


C is for Communication

by volleydorkscentral



Series: Just a Taste - [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Building Good Communication Skills, But also lots of smut, Fluff, Getting Together, It's an art, Kink Negotiation, Lots of plot, M/M, Mattsun is in a relationship with an oc character in the beginning, Model!AU, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse & Trauma, Sex Toys, Slow Burn-ish?, TW's will be in the beginning of chapters, but that goes away, dom!Mattsun, i know the tags make it sound angsty but it all works out in the end, oh its also an american!au cause of Reasons, sub!Makki, there's a happy ending i swear, training a submissive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 79,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleydorkscentral/pseuds/volleydorkscentral
Summary: Matsukawa is at the end of his rope, and his two-year relationship... By chance, luck, or fate he meets Makki in a slinky little BDSM club and feels an immediate connection that he can't explain to anyone, least of all himself. Makki, too, is drawn to him and as they begin a tentative relationship they must work through both of their tumultuous pasts and figure out how to build a future together.“Oh,” a voice said awfully close to [Mattsun's] face, “it’s you.”Mattsun opened one eye and moved his arm to see the man from last night standing over him. “Little Red.”[Makki] laughed a warm, gentle laugh. “Is that what you call me in your head?”“Well, what do you call me?”He winked and ran his tongue over his top lip. "Sir, of course."Included in the Haikyuu NSFW Big Bang 2020 -- INCLUDES AMAZING ART!!
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Series: Just a Taste - [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1235204
Comments: 71
Kudos: 179
Collections: Haikyuu!! NSFW Big Bang 2020!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is included in the Haikyuu NSFW Big Bang 2020 and includes some AMAZING ART by Quinn! Behold its beauty...
> 
> [ HERE!! ](https://twitter.com/Acequinnsane1/status/1242138697174331392?s=20)
> 
> Go marvel at it and support them!! I am so so so in awe of their art and how kind and easy they are to work with :) This has been such an amazing experience and I've loved every minute of it!  
> Also, a HUGE thank you to @bookishascanbe for being such an amazing beta! You're amazing and I couldn't have finished this without your support! :) I'm still cracking up at that wild font change on page 88. I'll never live it down.
> 
> This is a PREQUEL story for Just a Taste, but you shouldn't need to have read that to understand this. I'll be uploading it really quickly to coincide with the NSFW schedule, too. I'll be adding trigger warnings at the beginning of chapter notes so pay attention to them since I apparently can't write a fic without some sort of angst. 
> 
> Enjoy! (TW: There are MILD hints at an Eating Disorder at the end, which I will mark with an * at the beginning of the paragraph)

The club's dark walls and soft music floated somewhere in the spaces of the background of Mattsun's mind. On a regular day, this was a favorite haunt of his, deep in the heart of New York City, but right now he was just frustrated with it. He should have just gone to a bar. All he wanted to do was get drunk. He shouldn't have come here. He was just sitting in the corner on a stool balancing his drink on his knee and hoping he wasn't glaring at anyone. 

People milled about in the Common Room, some dressed like they were going to a Renaissance ball, some in full leather, some in absolutely nothing at all, and about a hundred other things in between. He recognized a lot of them by face (or body) if not by name. He and Luke came here a lot…

His temper flared up again, roaring as a bright fire with gasoline thrown on it after he’d managed to get it down to just embers. They’d had another fight. Same shit. Every time. Mattsun leaned back against the wall and wanted to bash his head against it. Luke just didn’t _understand_. Luke was all in or all out, take me or leave me, soulmates or nothing. Mattsun was decidedly _not that…_ at least not with him. Not anymore. It had been the same last year when Luke had asked him to move in and instead of answering Mattsun had gone and signed a lease agreement with their modeling company so he could move into a brownstone down in Greenwich Village. _That_ had been a fight. They'd broken up then, too. It had been the fourth time. But something always drew them back together. Mattsun had been wondering for over a year now what that was, and if it was worth it anymore. Most days, it wasn't. He just didn't know how to tell Luke that. 

He swallowed down his drink, wishing he could get well and truly drunk, but knowing that he shouldn’t, and damn his sense of responsibility. He’d go home soon. He’d go to work tomorrow. Avoid Luke as long as he could. They’d probably make up by the end of the week, though. That’s how it happened.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said, soft and supple, and Mattsun opened his eyes to see the owner standing in front of him. “Are you—” The stranger glanced at the lack of any sort of bracelet on Mattsun’s wrist and faltered. “Oh.”

Mattsun hadn't come to play tonight. He hadn't even come with the intention of speaking to anyone. The man in front of him blushed under the black mask that covered the top half of his face and, the longer Mattsun looked at him, the more the color spread down his throat and under the flower-patterned lace shirt he wore. He wasn't dressed like he was ready to play, but he was dressed to show off his body. Almost nothing was hidden from view—the tight shorts he wore were practically see-through. He had on heels—pointy, sleek, inky black—that made him look deadly and graceful. A bold and bright orange wristlet nestled on his arm, but Mattsun could tell that he was out of his element by the tense set of his shoulders and the way he kept casting surprised glances at people passing by. That was dangerous. Orange meant _anything goes._ But he was new and whoever had brought him or let him into the club had either gone off to a scene of their own, or he'd wandered off like a lost puppy, so _anything goes_ … worried Mattsun. He didn’t think the man had enough experience to know what his soft limits were, much less the hard limits.

New wasn't necessarily a bad thing—Mattsun, in particular, liked training new subs—but he did not have it in him tonight. "I'm probably not what you're looking for," Mattsun told him, trying to be as nice as possible.

"You're a Dom, though?"

“Yes.”

“And… forgive me if I’m being rude, but you look upset.” The man reached forward, bold, and touched a finger to Mattsun’s wrist, trailing upwards along the muscle.

Mattsun said in a clear, calm voice, “What exactly do you want? Be specific.”

The man’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, squeezing gently. “I’d like to make you feel better.”

“How do you think you could do that?”

His gaze dropped to the floor, but his fingers were steady. “You could hurt me. Use me however you want.”

Mattsun frowned at him. “Is that what you think I want?”

“That’s what Doms like, right?” His eyes—brown, but pretty and sweet like the color of freshly brewed espresso, which Mattsun liked—met Mattsun’s and held. “I like to be hurt.”

 _This guy_ , Mattsun thought. This guy. He'd like to find out who gave him a membership, who let him in, who set him free in this place while he was still clearly so inexperienced. Mattsun had half a mind to take him out front to the library that was stuffed full with fetish books and plop him in a chair to make him read several BDSM 101 books. Asking someone to perform the vaguely specific request ‘hurt me' in this venue could easily get him legitimately hurt if he found the wrong person or he didn't know how to communicate his limits. All Mattsun wanted to do was protect him, take him under his wing and show him the ropes (literally and figuratively) and keep him from ruining himself.

The man was speaking, his voice honey-sweet, "You can do anything. I'm willing to try whatever. I like to be—"

“Hush,” Mattsun snapped, sliding off his stool. He took the man’s hand—Red, he would call him, he decided, due to the soft color of his hair—and peeled it off. “Come with me.” He _shouldn’t_. He knew it. He and Luke might be fighting, they might even break up tomorrow, but tonight they were still _dating_. However, he couldn’t stand the idea of dismissing the man and finding out later that he’d been _injured_. He would be just as guilty as the person that did it.

Red smiled, following along obediently behind Mattsun as he led them across the Common Room's expansive floor. They weaved in and out of party-goers, not stopping to chat, but nodding politely to anyone he knew. No one seemed to recognize Little Red. He dropped his glass off at the bar off to the side and then made his way down a set of thin, narrow stairs. "Have you been here before?" he asked when Red made a curious noise and quickened his pace to be closer to Mattsun's back as if he'd not known the stairs were here.

“A few times.”

Mattsun cast a surprised glance over his shoulder.

"Mostly for classes," Red explained, a mischievous smile spreading on his face. One of his hands gripped the handrail for balance, but he didn't look uncomfortable walking downstairs in his high shoes, just nervous about the incline. His body turned sideways, and he stepped carefully after Mattsun.

“Oh? Which ones?” Mattsun moved down a winding hallway, peeking in rooms that had open doors, looking for an empty one. Most of them were already hosting occupants—either with an open invitation door, allowing anyone in to come and watch or participate, or a closed door, which meant _Occupied - Do Not Disturb._

"The one about edge play, the electrosex one, and the one about giving outstanding blowjobs. I passed that one with flying colors." Red's voice was pitched a little higher, trying to get Mattsun's attention.

Mattsun couldn't hold back his laugh, stopping as he finally found an open room. He ushered Red inside with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure you did." The room wasn't very large—not all of them could be, could they?—but it was plenty big enough for what Mattsun had in mind. He let the door close, then watched as Red leaned around him and pressed the lock on the knob. He raised an eyebrow at Red and then both of them rose towards his hairline when Red stepped close, their bodies only inches apart. Red tilted his face—he would have been shorter than Mattsun, were it not for the heels—trying for a kiss. Mattsun didn't make a move to back down, but nor did he lean forward. This made the man pause for a moment, uncertainty flashing across his face.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” Mattsun said, and his tone—which he had practiced for months when he’d first started learning how to be a Dom—made Red’s eyes widen a little. The gentle force of it made the man take a step back, touching his hands together in front of him, fiddling with his fingers.

“No.”

"Then don't." Kissing was strictly off-limits. Even when Luke was with him and they did scenes with others, or attended Partner Swap Parties, or any number of activities, kissing was _always_ off-limits unless it was with each other. Mattsun had put that rule in place the first time he'd allowed another Dom to play with Luke, and the man had kissed him after they'd finished. At the time fury had ripped through his belly at the sight, somehow more intimate than the entire scene he'd just witnessed, and he'd taken Luke into the closest alcove and kissed him so thoroughly he'd had bruises on his lips the next day. Marking his territory. He couldn't help it—he was a little possessive, and if he wasn't careful, jealousy could get the better of him. 

Red nodded at him. “Fine.”

 _Oh,_ Mattsun thought, _this one I could have fun with_. Immediately several ideas of how to train politeness into this one flicked across his mind. Yes, Sir; No, Sir; Of course, Sir. _Polite_. Mattsun liked his subs to be polite. That wasn’t his job tonight, though, so he forced the ideas out and moved around him, pulling over a small mat with his foot. “Strip to your underwear,” he ordered, “and kneel.”

Red smiled, tilting his head to reveal the pale column of his throat. “Are you sure you want me to leave them on?”

 _Hoo-boy_. Mattsun pressed his teeth together to not snap at the man. "Did I stutter?"

Blinking, looking surprised that his taunt hadn’t worked, Red muttered, “No.”

Mattsun dragged a chair over and took a moment to drape his jacket over the back (his favorite old leather jacket he’d had since he was a fully formed adult) and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee and giving Red a sharply disapproving look. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

It took a moment of hesitation before the man began to follow instructions. “Do you want me to start with—”

"Just do it," Mattsun said. "I don't care how. It doesn't have to be a striptease, either."

Reaching up behind him, Red began to unknot the slip of ribbon that held his mask on. It took a few moments of fumbling before he pulled it away to reveal soft, round cheeks and high arching brow bones that Mattsun wanted to trace his fingers over. He stripped slowly, every now and then glancing at Mattsun and maybe trying to twist his body into a sexy pose before realizing that Mattsun was indifferent to it.

At least, that's what his face said. Mattsun was good at looking indifferent. It had gotten him in trouble in the past, but now he used it when he didn't want to let anyone know he was aroused. Because, damn, Red was beautiful. He was tall even without the heels and had carefully crafted slender muscles underneath soft-looking, smooth skin. It looked like skin that Mattsun would enjoy peppering with kisses.

Mattsun looked away from Red balancing on one foot to tug one of his heels off. Luke would be mad if he knew Mattsun was here doing this for the sole reason that Luke didn’t _know_ about it. They’d spent their relationship learning communication skills, both of them, and Mattsun had learned that he liked honestly above nearly all else, especially when it came to sex. This felt like a secret. He hadn’t touched the man, he didn’t plan on touching him, but it still felt like cheating. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop now. If he did not only would his pride be hurt—he’d made a promise to Red, after all, even if he’d never said it aloud—but he worried where Red would go next.

It wasn't that the other Dominants in the club were terrible. As a matter of fact, this club was highly reputable in nearly every aspect. Membership was hard to come by, which made Mattsun even more curious as to how this guy got in and then seemingly got _lost_. It was just that sometimes playing out a scene with a stranger could be hard on all parties involved. In Mattsun's experience, the trust was so fragile in the beginning. Even with the wristbands that dictated kinks, the paperwork that set limits, and the Color System of safewords used in the club (Green—good to go; Yellow—I need a break, something is wrong, give me a minute and let's talk about this; Red—stop right now. No questions asked. Done.) things could still go wrong. Mattsun had seen inexperience leave scars, and not just physical ones. It was never pretty. Mattsun just _worried_ too much. Everyone told him so, but it didn't stop his worrying. 

When the stillness caught his eye, Mattsun turned back and saw Red standing nearly naked before him. All that covered him now was a black thong so lacy and pretty its only purpose was to show off what it held underneath. Mattsun tried to tell himself that he _didn't_ think the man’s dick was—and he'd never thought this about a dick before— _cute,_ but he just wanted to go over and feel it, to see where he was the most sensitive and how he liked to be touched. The man smiled when he saw Mattsun notice, then slowly knelt down on his knees, feet tucked under him.

“Do you want me to show off what I learned in that class?” the man asked, his smile spreading into confidence.

Mattsun looked down at him, raising an eyebrow when Red reached forward and looped his fingers around the ankles of Mattsun’s pants. “Mhm,” he hummed, as if in thought. “Yes, if you want to.”

Red's smile spread even further, and he sat up, excited to show off.

Mattsun let him get all the way up on his knees before he said, “I can go and get one of the dildo dummies used for practice.”

Red's cheeks burst into a bright red sheen of embarrassment. "That's not what I meant!" He gripped Mattsun's pants, angry and trying to retain his dignity. His pout was just a pinch to his lips; his near-invisible eyebrows pulled down over his eyes in annoyance.

Leaning forward, Mattsun grabbed the man’s wrist in a firm grip. He leaned down until their faces were very close before he said, “You think I don't know what's taught in that class? I used to help Mistress Elle teach that class. I know exactly what you learned.”

Red stared at him, the flush in his cheeks spreading all over his face and even into his ears. “I—” he started, then backed up and sat back on his heels once Mattsun released him. “I'm sorry. I didn't know…”

“I know you didn't,” Mattsun told him, speaking gently. “You're new to this, aren't you?”

Red wouldn't look at him; instead, he squeezed his hands together on his belly and frowned into a corner. "Is that your business?"

“It's what I'm asking you, so yes.”

Red didn't answer for a long time, but finally, he said, "I dated someone before, and we tried it. Didn't work out. So I wanted to learn more, and I found this place. Madame Zula admitted me." He huffed suddenly as if telling Mattsun even this infuriated him. "Look, this isn't what I wanted. I can go— I can find someone else. You don't have to—"

“Hush.”

Red scowled up at him. “You don't have to—”

Mattsun ordered, “Shut the fuck up.” The man’s mouth snapped satisfyingly shut. “Now, you know the color system here?”

“Yes.”

"That's what we'll use, but I'm not going to touch you, so I don't think you'll need them."

“You're not going to—”

Mattsun let his voice slide into the sharp-edged voice he used when he expected to be obeyed. "Touch yourself."

Red gave him a narrow-eyed, confused look, but reached between his legs.

“No,” Mattsun said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Not there. Touch your face.”

“Excuse me?” he asked with derision.

Mattsun resisted the urge to reach out and grab his chin to make him stop with the backtalk. "Touch your face like a lover would."

Blinking, confused, Red opened his mouth but with a look from Mattsun closed it again. He thought about this for a moment then raised one hand and touched his fingertips to his own cheek, brushing a small, irregular shaped scar. His eyes flicked to Mattsun's as he trailed them upwards and over the arch of his left eyebrow. He traced it slowly, stroking, eyes locked with Mattsun's. It was the place where Mattsun had a silver bar pierced through his own eyebrow, and Mattsun realized that they both wanted the man to touch _him_ that way. They watched each other as Red stroked the pads of his fingers over his face—curving along the lines of his eyebrows, up and down the swell of his cheeks, over the sharp cut of his jaw.

They were so close Mattsun could see the slow, steady way Red's pupils expanded, betraying just how aroused he was. Mattsun knew many Doms who had a rule against eye contact during play or a scene, but Mattsun wanted to see their eyes. He knew that the eyes revealed everything if you know how to read them. He could see Red's pulse quickening in his throat, hear the soft, short breaths he took. His fingers touched his lips, mouth trembling, just over the dipping curve of his top lip. They parted as he pressed a finger in, grazing over his teeth. Mattsun wanted to lick him.

“Lower.”

Red trailed one hand over his throat, fingers skittering, spreading across his pointy collarbone. His fingers raised goosebumps on his arms and Mattsun smiled a small, satisfied smile as the man shivered under his gaze. His touch was feather-light, barely actually touching any skin, but the man’s chest still rose and fell with sharp fluidity, and his cock was growing slowly harder under the lace.

“Are your nipples very sensitive?” Mattsun asked, still in a low voice that he knew made people shiver.

Red breathed out, “No…”

"Are you sure? Show me. Play with one. No, not like that." He moved to the edge of the chair so he could lean down and have his face closer to Red's. "Just touch it as gently as you did with your face. Close your eyes," he glanced up, smiled when Red's eyes fluttered closed, "and just feel. Get the blood flowing there."

The fingers of one of Red's hand circled his nipple, more of an idea of a touch than any actual contact, and Red shivered visibly. _Not sensitive my ass,_ Mattsun thought. He wanted to duck his face down and suck on one. Or bite one. He almost did, damn the guilt swirling in his belly, but Luke’s face flashed through his mind: dark hair, adoring blue eyes, the way he’d presented himself to Mattsun—on his knees, wrists turned up, whispering ‘Please, Sir.’ No, Mattsun would behave himself, he wasn’t a cheater. He wasn’t sure what he _was_ doing, but the more he sat here feeling like a piece of shit, the more he realized that he wanted to break up with Luke. He'd been circling the idea in his head for months now, avoiding saying it even to himself because he wanted to make it work—he really did—but it wouldn't. They weren't compatible in enough ways that mattered. 

He was distracted as Red let out a breathy moan. He was leaning back harder onto his feet, almost ready to fall over. Mattsun frowned and thought that his feet were probably almost numb by now. It was nearing fifteen minutes, surely it was passing the interesting pins and needles feeling and going straight into too much pain as the nerve endings were deprived of blood.

“Good,” Mattsun told him, “good boy. Use your nails. Lightly. Don’t hurt yourself.” He’d seen how Red’s fingers had twitched and, sure enough, when he grazed one nail over the hardened nub of one nipple he whimpered again. His eyes stayed closed, but he rocked a little back and forth, probably searching for a way to bring his feet to life again. Mattsun knew he needed to get him off his feet soon, but didn’t want to break the headspace he’d gotten Red into just yet.

Red’s fingers still brushed and circled, he was definitely aroused now, his belly stretched with each breath. “Please,” he whispered, “please touch me.”

Mattsun wanted to touch him so badly. He had to clasp his hands together to prevent them from reaching out on their own. He knew that if he started touching him, he wouldn't be able to stop. “You can use your fingers now,” he told Red. “Pinch one, not too hard.”

Red did so, rolling one nipple between his fingers, his body shuddering. "Hnnng… feels good," he whined, his thumb brushing over his nipple again and then squeezing, pinching it between thumb and forefinger so that he let out a shaking breath.

Mattsun smiled to himself, pleased. He liked the soft little sounds that fell from Red’s lips, wanted to explore all the sounds he could get him to make. Wanted to know what sounds he made when Mattsun spanked him—it would be lovely—the sounds and the sight. “Harder.”

“Ah… I—hurts…” Red whispered as he squeezed. He opened his eyes just enough to catch Mattsun staring at him, and a smile flitted across his face. “Wanna touch?”

 _Yes._ Mattsun only smiled at him. "Harder." He was uncomfortably aroused in his black jeans, but he was not the focus of tonight. Besides, he was having fun playing with this one. 

Red's face twisted, drawing in a sharp breath as he moved his fingers. He let out a sharp gasp and wobbled, falling suddenly sideways so that Mattsun reacted on instinct, lunging forward and catching him in his arms. "Ah!" Red whined, panting, wriggling in his arms. "My feet, ow, ow, ow…"

Mattsun grimaced, cradling him up and touching his legs. “Straighten. Wiggle your toes.”

“It hurts…”

“I know,” Mattsun said gently. “Do it anyway. I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention…” He leaned forward and reached over to stroke his fingers over the top of Red’s foot. He flinched in response, so Mattsun knew that there was no real damage. Blood was already flooding back by the way Red was panting in his arms.

In his arms.

Mattsun was cradling Red against his chest, his arms supporting his shoulders. Red's skin was tacky with sweat. This close he smelled of late-blooming summer flowers and the sweat of arousal, heady and exotic, soft on the tongue. His skin was as soft as rose petals. They stared at one another, Red's tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip…

Mattsun almost leaned down to kiss him. Instead, he took Red's wrist and held his palm against his chest. "Your heart's hammering."

“…I know,” Red whispered, never looking away.

Mattsun used Red's hand to trace patterns over his body. He watched their hands moving together and hovered over Red's thigh, just brushing the fine copper-colored hair there. Red squirmed in his arms, arching upwards, moaning. Red hooked his fingers under the strap of underwear across his hip, his eyes flicking up to lock with Mattsun's. All Mattsun could see was precisely how different Red and Luke were… in every way he could think of. Red was soft and supple, long muscles and slender body, wide eyes that trusted where they probably shouldn't, pretty pink lips. Mattsun removed his hand from Red's wrist, reaching up to stroke his thumb across his eyebrow, tender and sweet.

“Touch yourself now.”

Red slid one hand under the lace of his underwear and his other up Mattsun's shirt, his fingers spread wide. He didn't take his eyes off Mattsun as he began to stroke himself, gasping at the sensitivity. "Sir…"

"Shh." Mattsun hushed him, his thumb brushing over Red's brow, down the softness of his cheek, caressing the barely-there shadows under his eyes, the tiny scar, the heart-shaped dip in his top lip, the point of his chin, the shape of his jaw. He touched all he could until he had touched every part of Red's face, then, almost against his will, his hand slid upwards into his hair. It was silky smooth, soft like the new fur of a puppy.

Red's hand was slowly moving, cupping over his cock. His body shuddered, and he rocked into his fist, moans floating from his lips. His other hand dug nails into Mattsun's belly, scratching hard as he bucked and writhed. "Ah, fuck, fuck—"

Mattsun gripped his hair—not too hard, but enough to make Red gasp—and said, “Slow down.”

“What? No—ah!” Red yelped when Mattsun tugged his hair. “No, please, don’t make me— I want— please.” He was shivering, gasping for breath, his body shaking.

Leaning down, Mattsun laid his forehead against Red’s. “Shh, it’s okay. Breathe for me.” He moved his face so his lips were directly over Red’s. “Breathe,” he repeated, blowing softly over his lips.

Red gasped, gripping the base of his cock hard. His eyes pressed closed, his mouth trembling.

"Little Red," Mattsun whispered, "Breathe. In—out. There, good boy. In—out." He whispered, directing the man's breathing for several long minutes while he stroked himself until he was sucking down great lungfuls of air, letting them out as a deep, shivering sighs. "You're close," he whispered, watching the way Red's belly trembled and his cock leaked through his fingers.

“Can I”—Red moaned, arching upwards as he rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock—“please come?”

“Not yet,” Mattsun told him. He tangled his fingers in Red’s hair, stroking his lips over Red’s cheek. “Just breathe for me. Big breaths, just like I showed you… and on your third exhale, you can come.”

Red shivered, his first inhale was shaky, and he turned his face into Mattsun's chest. He curled up around himself, taking long, slow breaths and, just as Mattsun told him, on his last exhale, he came with a shuddering moan. He stroked himself through his orgasm until he was over sensitive. He lay there panting, only opening his eyes when he finally seemed to realize he was still being held. When he spoke, his voice was breathy, "That was— Oh, I'm sorry." He pulled his hand out from Mattsun's shirt, practically having to peel his nails off.

Mattsun knew he’d have deep scratches, but at the moment he didn't care. “Here, lay down.” He guided the man to the mat, using the man's shirt as a hastily bundled pillow. He knelt beside him, petting his hand through his hair, while the man came out of the fog of orgasm. “How are you feeling?”

“Mhm.”

“I need some words, Red.”

“I— … hmm…” The man turned his face towards Mattsun, a little smile on his lips. “You next?”

Mattsun patted his chest with his free hand. “No, I'm alright. I'll be right back. I'm going to go to the other side of the room, ok?” He spoke with a soothing tone, simple words, but the man still frowned at him.

“Why? No, don't go…”

"Just a second," Mattsun promised him. He stood and retrieved a cloth from a small vanity, soaking it in clean water from the little sink in the corner. He felt Red's eyes on him the whole time, boring holes into his back. When he returned, he sat beside him, taking Red's hand and carefully cleaning it. He took his time doing it, one finger at a time, feeling the warmth of his hand and the curve of his fingers.

“Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?” Red asked, and Mattsun looked sharply at him. It sounded so vulgar in the tenderness of the moment.

"No, this was for you, not me." Mattsun finished with his hand and held it, stroking his palm with his thumb. He handed Red the cloth and let him clean his belly while Mattsun pet his hair. He didn't miss the way Red tucked into his hand, closing his eyes whenever Mattsun moved his hand, eventually petting him like one would a puppy. Mattsun wanted to pet his belly too, see if he liked it the same way. There was so much he wanted to do with this one… but again, Luke's face popped into his mind. Red was leaning his head against Mattsun's chest, eyes closed, almost dozing off as Mattsun held him.

This was one of his favorite parts of the scene—afterward—caring for the person. Some subs he knew liked to be cuddled, held tight, hugged, and petted while they floated up from their subspace; some wanted to be left alone to drink water and come down all on their own; some just wanted someone in the room with them, or just to hold hands. Everyone was different. Mattsun thought that Red was the cuddling type, and while he wanted to stay and hold him, he really needed to go. The longer he sat here, the more it felt like cheating. He hated feeling this way—like he'd betrayed everything he and Luke had worked for, even if he didn't think it should continue. Just because he was thinking about breaking up with him didn't mean he could betray him.

“Pet,” he whispered, “I’ve got to go.”

Red's eyes opened slowly, and he raised his face. "Why?"

"It's late. You can't stay here, either. You've got to get home." Mattsun paused, considering if he should say what had been bothering him. He sighed, reaching up to cup Red's face, stroking his thumb over his cheek. "I need you to do something for me; listen close. I need you to be careful. I could have hurt you… badly. I could have done anything I wanted to you, anything _you_ wanted… but that can go terribly wrong without the proper preparation and communication. I need you to take care of yourself. Can you do that for me?"

Red nodded, his hand coming up to curl over Mattsun’s wrist. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise I’ll take better care of myself, Sir,” he said, squeezing his fingers and smiling.

Mattsun smiled back and, after only a moment of hesitation, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Good boy. Now finish cleaning up. Get dressed. When you leave, go to the bar and get some water, then find a cab and go home. Eat a snack and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

Red laughed, shaking his head a little as he sat up. “Clothes. Water. Home. Snack. Bed.”

“Precisely.” Mattsun touched his thumb to Red’s lips before he stood and retrieved his jacket from the chair. “You’ll be okay?”

Red reached for his discarded clothes, smiling up at him. “Yes, Sir.” He tucked himself back into his underwear, giggling a little. “Thank you. Although… you didn’t do what you said you’d do.”

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Mattsun turned back to frown at him. “Excuse me?”

“You said you wouldn’t touch me.” Red’s smile was mischievous. “You touched me there at the end.”

Mattsun shook his head and ducked out of the room, making sure to pull the door firmly closed. He made his way back upstairs and to the bar, stopping next to a woman in a slinky black dress with no back to speak of. “Madame Elle,” he said to her in greeting, taking her hand when she presented it to him. “I hope you’re doing well.”

She smiled back, tucking a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. “I am, thank you.” She looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “I saw you go downstairs with that boy.” She said it _pointedly_.

Mattsun shook his head. “We didn’t have sex.”

“Oh? You were down there long enough.”

“We didn’t.” He insisted. He waved the bartender over—a pretty young man that he could never remember the name of—and asked for a bottle of water. “Madame, can you do me a favor?”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her cherry red lips. “Not tell your little Luke?”

He frowned, tapping a finger on the lid of the water once he had it. “Well… I’m going to tell him, but no, that’s not what I meant. You remember the guy I went downstairs with? He should be coming up soon.” He pushed the bottle next to her drink. “Give this to him? And make sure he gets in a cab home.”

"Oh?" Elle took the bottle, and Mattsun noticed how her nails matched her lips. Dangerous and beautiful. "You're not going to do it yourself?"

"No, I have to go home. I wasn't even planning on coming here tonight and now…" He flapped a hand, dismissing his own sentence. "Can you do it?"

“Of course, Issei. Anything you ask. You must tell me what happened between the two of you when you have time.”

“Sorry, Madame, you’ll just have to satiate your curiosity elsewhere.”

She touched a finger to her lips and cocked her head at him. “You’re not usually so secretive. You know who that kid is, right?”

Mattsun frowned at her. "You know him? Can you explain why Zula let him in? He has no experience, and he _definitely_ shouldn’t be on his own.”

"Ah…" Elle shrugged, taking a sip of her drink through a tiny straw. "He's technically been in some sort of lifestyle for a few years… but Zula told me it wasn't a good representation of the way we do things. It seemed to really upset her even though she wouldn't tell me exactly what he told her. Apparently, he and Zula had a long meet-and-greet at a café a few weeks ago. He got injured during his last relationship"—she tapped a finger on her left shoulder to indicate where Red had been hurt—"but that didn't scare him off. I think she mentioned that she wanted to show him how our lifestyle can be fun and how to do it right, even though he didn't seem to really know what he was looking for."

Mattsun scowled, anger making his stomach hot. "That's all well and good, but he shouldn't be on his own until he knows what his limits are, what to ask for, and how to ask for it. Do you know what he asked me?" She raised her eyebrows, so he continued, "He asked me to _hurt him._ ”

She smirked at him, a knowing smile that could easily sway lesser people. “Did you?”

He shook his head, knowing that if they continued this line of talk he'd only get angrier. "I'll see you later, Elle. Take care of him," he said instead, liking the way her mouth twitched with annoyance when he didn't answer her.

“Will do, darling.”

He left the club, having to walk several blocks over to a busy street to find a cab of his own, his boots crunching in the sludgy, dirt-colored residue leftover from the snowfall earlier that morning. He checked his phone and, sure enough, Luke had called and texted him several times since their fight that evening. Even Akaashi had called him. Mattsun sighed, pocketing his phone again without answering any of the messages.

*The ride didn't take any more than ten minutes, and when he stepped inside the brownstone, he found Akaashi, his roommate and fellow model, sitting curled up on the couch watching television and drinking tea. Mattsun frowned, knowing that oftentimes Akaashi would drown in tea and hot drinks when he didn't eat dinner.

*“Have you eaten?” he asked, more accusatory than he’d intended.

Akaashi looked up at him, his skin pale in the glow from the television. "He's here," he said instead of answering. "Upstairs. He tried to wait down here, but he was pacing too much, so I made him go to your room. Oh, and the dryer's on the fritz again."

Mattsun swore under his breath. They had been fighting a war with their dryer since they’d moved in. “I’ll look at it.”

Akaashi snorted. “And what will that do?”

“Fuck you,” Mattsun told him listlessly. “I’ll call someone tomorrow.”

"Thank you." Akaashi's gaze wandered back to his show, and he pressed his cup to his lips.

“Go eat something,” Mattsun said.

“It’s too late to eat.”

“Eat something,” Mattsun repeated, putting more force behind his words.

It didn’t do anything to Akaashi, who only tucked his knees up to his chin. “Mhm-hmm.”

Mattsun shook his head, making a mental note to come back down later and check on him. Upstairs in the second-floor bathroom, he stripped his clothes, hanging up his jacket for safety, and leaned over the sink to wash his face. Before he did, he pulled his hands close to his face, and something in his belly twitched when he realized that Red's scent lingered on his fingers. Flowers… springtime and the budding blooms of summer. It made arousal tingle in him.

“You’re back.”

Every calm feeling snapped like a broken string inside him at the sound of Luke’s voice. He looked up and in the reflection of the mirror saw Luke standing in the doorway of the bathroom. “You’re here.” He wondered if Luke saw the red scratches on his stomach, or if his naïveté made him blind.

Luke came into the room, his eyes flicking over Mattsun’s bare back. “Where were you? I was worried.” Luke was significantly shorter than him, but even so, he was a model too, and he made up for his lack of height with devastatingly good looks. He had the face of an angel, and every muscle on his body was carefully built and defined. His skin was the tan of deep summer, even now in the winter, and his eyes were a color of blue Mattsun had never seen before, the swirling blue-gray of an ocean during a storm. It was the first thing Mattsun had noticed about him when they’d met almost two years ago, and since then he’d found a lot to love about him (the way he laughed when Mattsun told a dirty joke, how he liked to dance even with no music, the ridiculous way he _loved_ football and would scream at the television during the games) but now… his eyes just hurt Mattsun. The way he looked so sad all the time, the desperate way he grabbed at Mattsun’s wrist every time Mattsun stormed out—having to leave or else he’d lose his temper and beat him. He remembered tears in those eyes more than joy now, and he couldn’t stand it.

“I was out,” Mattsun told him. He began to rinse his hands, imagining the scent swirling down the drain. He even took a moment to splash water into his hair and spent a few minutes scrubbing his face clean. “What?” he asked sharply, sensing that Luke was right behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Luke muttered, one hand touching Mattsun’s back. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Mattsun straightened, picking up a towel and wiping his face, turning away from him. “No, you shouldn’t have. That’s why I walked away.”

“But—” Luke’s voice was verging on whiny— “I really want to talk about it. Why can't you just—”

“Stop it,” Mattsun growled. “We have talked about it. I don't want to live together.”

“Why?” Luke cried, stepping forward and reaching for Mattsun’s wrist. “I love you! You love me. What else do we need?”

Mattsun snatched his arm away. “I just don't think it's a good idea.” _I don't love you anymore._ He dug around in the pile of laundry, cursing his and Akaashi's bad cleaning habits until he found a pair of day-old pajama pants to wear. "Go home," he told Luke as he pushed past him and made his way up the stairs to his third-floor bedroom.

Luke followed him, tugging on his arm once they were on the landing. “Stop walking away from me!”

Mattsun stopped, tense and angry. He clenched his fist and glared at the small paintings hung on the opposite wall. This was maybe why he didn't want to live with Luke. Luke was… needy. Which would be fine, if Mattsun _wanted_ to give him what he needed. But he didn't, at least not anymore. Maybe he never had. He closed his eyes, knowing that he needed to say it. _I don't love you. We need to break up. I can't do this anymore. Find someone who will treat you better_.

"Sir, please," Luke was saying, grip tight on his arm. "I just want us to take the next step. I just want to show you how much I love you. It's so hard when we're apart. I hate sleeping alone…"

Mattsun hated sleeping alone too. “I know you want that. But… but I don't.”

“…What?”

“Go home, Luke,” Mattsun said, feeling the tremble in his own voice. “I don't want to talk to you while we're both upset.”

Luke stared at him, his grip slowly relaxing until he dropped Mattsun's arm. “Tomorrow?”

Mattsun wouldn't look at him. He pressed his hands against his legs. “Yes.”

They were quiet for a long moment. Mattsun could feel Luke's gaze on his face, but he didn't look at him. He only opened his eyes when Luke moved closer and stood on his toes to kiss his cheek.

“Sleep well, Sir,” Luke whispered before he made his way back downstairs.

Mattsun leaned over the banister when he heard his feet reach the first floor and waited until the front door closed. He sighed, dropping his forehead to the railing.

He'd forgotten to tell him about Red. He hadn't broken up with him. He'd only prolonged the inevitable.

"Did you do it?" Akaashi had to nearly yell to be heard from the lower floor. He knew that Mattsun had been wanting to end the relationship, or at least talk to Luke about it. Akaashi was the one that had initially asked him, ‘So do you not love him anymore?'

Mattsun called back, “Did you _eat_?”

Neither of them said anything after that. Mattsun went to his room and collapsed on his bed, staring out the windows at the tops of buildings across the street until he fell into a messy, tangled web of dreams filled with Luke’s face and scented with flowers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely mild mentions of ED again: indicated with an *

Mattsun sat in one of the make-up chairs waiting for the stylist to arrive. He was much too early, but he liked to come early so he could sit and drink his coffee (a canned drink that proclaimed _four espresso shots_ and an extra boost of caffeine on top of it) in relative peace. He needed the liquid energy if he was going to be doing photo shoots at seven-thirty in the morning. He hadn't slept well last night, either. He was unable to remember his dreams, but he knew they had been nightmares because he'd woken up in a cold sweat at least three times. Considering he'd only been in bed for _maybe_ four hours that wasn’t nearly enough sleep. Leah would fuss at him as she covered up the dark circles under his eyes.

“Sir?”

Mattsun let out a sigh before he opened his eyes and found Luke standing beside his chair. “What?”

Luke fidgeted with his hands, and Mattsun saw he held another can of coffee for him. A peace offering, probably, but Mattsun already had one, so now Luke didn't know what to do with it. Mattsun frowned at him. He really didn't want to get into another fight at work.

“Go put it in the fridge,” he told Luke. “I’ll drink it later.” And, after a moment, said more gently, “Thank you.”

Luke smiled a small, fragile smile. "What do you have to do today?"

“Just a few things. A meeting with Devin. I should be done by midday.”

“Do you think we could get lunch, then?”

Mattsun looked down at the drink in his hand, tracing his finger around the rim of the can. “Maybe. I’ll see what Akaashi is doing.” He was too tired to be doing this right now.

Luke made a face. “I meant just us.”

“I know what you meant.”

“… You’re still mad,” Luke said, gritting his teeth. “That’s not fair, you said we’d talk!”

Mattsun pressed a hand to his eyes. It was too early for this. “And we will. Just not… not right now. I still need time.”

“Time for _what_?”

“To think.”

Luke's face fell, and he slammed the can on the vanity counter. "Fuck that. I'm not waiting for you to make up your mind."

Mattsun didn’t say _you’ve waited before_. “Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Luke snapped, his cheeks reddening.

"I don't want to hurt your feelings, so if this is how you want to do things, that's fine with me." It _wasn’t_ fine, though. Mattsun had a lot he needed to tell him, to say to him. He needed to explain himself and explain that it wasn't Luke's fault, he hadn't done anything, not really. It was just that they'd grown apart. Or at least, Mattsun had grown apart from him. 

"To do things," Luke repeated, voice flat. He shook his head. "Fuck you." He stepped back as Leah came into the room carrying a big bag filled with her supplies, turned on his heel and stomped out, knocking into her on the way so that she dropped the bag and cosmetic spilled across the floor.

“Asshole!” she shrieked at Luke's back.

Mattsun swore, sliding off the chair and going over to help her pick up the lipsticks, blushes, brushes, and all the other things she had stuffed in the bag. “I'm sorry.”

"Not your fault," she said, scooping up bottles and dumping them in the bag. "He's just got a stick up his ass or something." After they'd picked up everything, she ushered him back to the chair and leaned close to peer at him. "Come on, dude, did you even sleep last night?"

“I tried.”

Leah rolled her eyes while she dug through her bag and pulled out various creams and powders. “Try harder next time, will you?”

He scowled at her and chugged the rest of his coffee before she began to dab the necessary powders on his face to hide his sleepless nights.

* * *

Even through the chaos, the day went by slowly. That just meant that Mattsun felt even more exhausted by lunchtime. His manager, Devin, had booked several more projects for Mattsun in the upcoming weeks, so now Mattsun’s schedule, which had been relatively open, was now so busy he might even need to start bringing extra clothes and possibly even sleeping in the upstairs lounge of their modeling agency. He’d done it before; the couch was not comfortable.

"Hey," Akaashi said, touching his arm to get his attention, "you look dead on your feet." He sat beside Mattsun on the couch he was considering sleeping on and laid his head on Mattsun's shoulder. He was bundled up in a thick sweater and knit leggings, a bit much for Mattsun in the warmth of the building, but for Akaashi—who sported cardigans and long-sleeved shirts in July—it was nothing special.

“Didn’t sleep good,” Mattsun said.

Akaashi hummed a little. “Insomniacs don’t make good models.”

“Not unless they’ve got ass-loads of makeup. You’ve got no room to talk. When’d you go to bed? And did you eat breakfast?” He pulled away to look down at Akaashi, worried.

*"Of course," Akaashi said with an ease that meant he was probably lying. He was fiddling with the lid of a bottle of green tea that he bought every day from the convenience store across the street. Mattsun knew that Akaashi had a bad relationship with food, but he did his best to try to get him to eat whenever he could. He didn't understand it, and thought that maybe Akaashi was just extremely picky—lousy childhood memories of broccoli, perhaps? "Oh, and your boyfriend made a fuss this morning in the lobby. Everyone saw it. He screamed at one of the managers."

Mattsun sighed, long and deep. “I don’t think he’s my boyfriend anymore.”

“You don’t think?” Akaashi raised his face, his cheek on Mattsun’s shoulder. “Still fighting?”

“To put it lightly, yeah. He hasn’t answered any of my texts today either.”

"Well, it's what you wanted, right?"

Mattsun clenched his hand around his phone, scowling at the screen. "Not like this. I wanted to talk to him. I still don't have my thoughts together, but… I feel like I owe him an explanation."

“I get that. It’s been, what, two years?”

“Almost, yeah.”

Akaashi took a drink of his tea. “Then just give it a little bit, let him cool off, then call him again. Or just go to his house. Even if it hurts, having the conversation sooner rather than later will be better in the long run. It’s best to get it out in the open and make sure you two are on the same page about whether or not you’re actually still dating or not.”

Mattsun nodded, leaning his head down on Akaashi's and closing his eyes. They sat in silence for a while, Akaashi reaching over and taking Mattsun's hand because he knew Mattsun liked it—touch calmed him. After a while, Mattsun finally asked, "Want to go get lunch?"

“Can’t.”

He opened his eyes to look at Akaashi. “Come on. I need to make sure you’re eating. You’re wasting away.”

“I am not!” Akaashi laughed, sitting up and knocking his bottle against Mattsun’s leg. “I’m doing a project with that new photographer.”

“The really young one?”

“Yeah, the one with the undercut. Handsome.”

“Of course that’s the first thing you notice about him.”

Akaashi grinned back at him as he stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Excuse me for having a type.”

"Slut," Mattsun said fondly. Akaashi wasn't exactly the most chaste person in the world—and in fact, Mattsun hadn't seen him with the same man twice since last Fourth of July when he'd been dumped by his long-term boyfriend. Mattsun and Luke had broken up then, too, yet another fight.

"Language." Akaashi bopped him on the head with the bottle. "Besides, it's just a photoshoot. It's not even anything interesting. Just another collegiate thing. Sportswear, textbooks, stuff like that."

“Make sure that’s all you’re doing,” Mattsun said sternly. “Don’t get fired over bullshit.”

“Yes, yes.” Akaashi turned to go, waving over his shoulder. “I’m working at the bar tonight so don’t wait up.”

“Will you be coming home to change?”

“Yeah.” Akaashi stopped at the door. “You going to be home?”

Mattsun frowned, slouching into the couch. “I dunno…”

“Well, I hope you can figure everything out. You’re no fun when you’re moody.”

“Shut the fuck up, Keiji.”

“See?” He laughed, then ducked out of the room.

Mattsun moved so he could lay out on the couch, thinking he might take a short nap before going home. Public transit was not his friend, especially when he was exhausted. He rechecked his phone, but there was no answer from Luke, so he sent another message— _i just want to talk_. He watched as the blue bubble went from _Delivered_ to _Read_ and waited, watching the numbers on the clock tick forward twice before he decided that Luke was actively ignoring him. He dropped his phone onto his chest and threw his arm over his eyes. This was bullshit. He wasn’t going to tear himself into pieces waiting on Luke to call him back so he could break his heart.

He told himself this even as he tore himself to pieces.

Agonizing over what he should do, he didn't get a moment of rest even though he knew time was trickling by. At this point, he should just get up and go home. Sleep in his own bed. Maybe make a bulleted list of his talking points he wanted to go over with Luke. Something. Figure out what his scattered brain and frazzled heart were trying to tell him.

“Oh,” a voice said awfully close to his face, “it’s you.”

Mattsun opened one eye and moved his arm to see the man from last night standing over him. “Little Red.”

The man laughed a warm, gentle laugh. “Is that what you call me in your head?”

“Well, what do you call me?”

He winked and ran his tongue over his top lip. "Sir, of course."

Mattsun laughed and sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.

The man said, “You look like shit.”

“Thank you,” Mattsun grumbled. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Oh, I work here. I’m new, just moved to the city last week.” The man sat on the little bit of space left on the couch beside Mattsun’s legs. He touched his lips with a finger. “You work here, too? You’re sexy enough to be a model.”

“I do. Just got done with work today.” He paused, looking the man over and the pretty collared shirt he wore that was covered in tiny pink flamingos. He had a strange sense of fashion, but he wore it with a confidence that made Mattsun think he could pull off a wet paper bag. “What’s your name, then?”

The man smiled and leaned back against Mattsun’s legs. He reached a hand out to him and said, “Takahiro Hanamaki. Back when I had friends they called me Makki.”

Mattsun took his hand—familiar and soft—and wanted to bring it to his nose to see if his skin still smelled like flowers. “Issei Matsukawa.”

“I think I’ll call you Sir, though,” Makki said, winking and squeezing his hand.

Mattsun smiled. “You’re a little smart-ass, aren’t you?”

Makki grinned back, taking his hand away and touching Mattsun's leg. "Say, have you had lunch? I'm hungry, but I don't know what's around here. Can you give me a little tour?"

Mattsun checked his phone again—twenty minutes and no response. “Sure,” he told Makki, nudging him with his knee until he moved so Mattsun could stand. “What kind of food do you like?”

Makki ran a hand over his stomach, making the shirt ride up to reveal a line of his skin, which Mattsun wanted to reach out and touch.

_Goddammit_ , he thought, _is he some kind of magician? Why do I lose my head whenever he's around?_

“I like all kinds of food,” Makki said. “But I really like big, hot things.”

Mattsun rolled his eyes as he led the way out of the lounge and to the elevator. “The fuck was that? Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“I mean—” He laughed, shrugging. “I haven't had to do it in a long time. Help me practice?”

Mattsun shook his head, smiling. “I'm not good at it either, to be honest.”

“You're more straight forward, are you?” Makki reached over and touched Mattsun’s back, tracing his fingers down his shoulder.

“Straight is the last thing that I am.”

He liked the way Makki laughed at that and wanted to make him laugh again. As they walked a few blocks towards the restaurant Mattsun had in mind, he pointed out the convenience store where most of the models bought snacks and drinks; the gym across the street where models that showed their agency ID could get a half-off membership; a laundromat, just in case of emergency; the coffee shop with free WiFi; and the sandwich shop where the owner would also give a discount if you asked nicely. As they walked, they began learning the very basics about one another. Makki was from Jersey, he'd been modeling for a few years now, but he used to wait tables all through high school. He had an older sister who doted on him—which he said he hated, but he looked like he secretly liked. Mattsun told him how he'd grown up in South Carolina with his parents and three brothers (one older, two younger), how he'd moved to NYC originally to pursue a music career, but it had fallen flat when he'd found out that the ‘bandmates' he was there to meet weren't real—how he'd been catfished out of a few thousand dollars and had to sleep on a bench for a few nights, clutching at his guitar and not having enough money to go home.

"I ended up begging a job at this little restaurant. They had me running food and cleaning tables, and I was able to afford the cheapest, shittiest motel by the end of a few days. Worked my way up to an actual server and began getting tips. And one day this guy came in and asked me if I was busy that afternoon because he'd had a model drop out last minute and needed a replacement."

They were sitting across each other in a small booth tucked in the corner of an Indian restaurant that Mattsun liked to come to for lunch sometimes. They used a generous amount of spices, and he always left with his belly full and mouth tingling. The window beside them was dusted with frost and the cold seeped in through the glass enough that they both left on their coats even though the restaurant was warm.

Makki shook his head at him. “You didn't think it was a scam? Human trafficking and all that?”

“Of course I did!” Mattsun laughed, playing with the paper wrapper of a straw. “But he pointed out all the equipment across the street and offered me a few hundred dollars for two hours. Then he gave me his card and told me to call him if I wanted to try it again.”

Makki smiled, stirring the ice in the water he had with his straw. “That’s interesting. Clearly, it worked out well for you.”

"Yeah, thank god." Mattsun tapped his phone screen, but no new messages had come through. He ignored the warming anger simmering inside him. "What about you? How'd you start?"

Makki was pulling up water from his straw and dribbling it into his mouth. "Hm… a few years ago. My sister's a model, too. She got me some summer shoots on the beach, and I just kept doing it."

“Is that what you wanted to do with your life?”

Makki shrugged, almost spilling his water glass and having to snatch it from tipping over. Wordless, Mattsun reached forward and pulled it away from him. He looked abashed but said, “No, not really. I was never really good at school. I did some sports—cross-country, volleyball, soccer, tennis—but I was never top of anything. I never had too many hobbies ‘cause I was so busy doing all the sports, but I never did anything with all that. All it did was keep me in shape.”

Mattsun chuckled. “I’m sure you’re good at plenty of things.”

“I told you I passed that class with flying colors, didn’t I?” He winked, touching his lips with his fingers and making a crude gesture that made Mattsun reach over the table and slap his hand.

“Stop that!”

Makki giggled, shaking his hand in a faux-chastised way. “Geez, sorry.”

“Don’t be crude in public.”

"Yes, Sir," he said sincerely, but his smirk was anything but.

Mattsun waited while the waitress brought their food to the table, thanked her, and let her get far enough away before he asked, “You said ‘back when I had friends’ earlier. That’s an odd way to put it…” He didn’t miss the way Makki’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. “What happened?”

“It’s not really something I like to talk about…” Makki pulled his plate close, gazing over his meal and looking forlorn. Mattsun didn’t think it was disappointment in the food.

“Is that why you came to the city? To get away?”

Makki frowned at him. “Something like that…” He cast around, searching for some way to change the subject because obviously, he didn’t want to talk about his past. “Oh! Hey, what were you doing at that club, anyway? You didn’t look like you wanted to—y’know—play or… do whatever you call it. Sex. You looked mad when I approached you.”

Mattsun pointed at him. “What were _you_ doing there? You have no idea what you’re doing. If you’d talked to any other person there you could have walked away last night with a scar or something. Jesus, I was so mad when I found out you were so new. You still need a house collar or something so people know not to play with you. What the fuck?”

“Ah, yeah, I was supposed to only go for classes. I got an earful from that woman you sent to give me the water, too. And _then_ she went and found Madame Zula, and they both fussed at me while they pushed me into a cab and sent me home like a _child_ ," Makki said, blushing. He poked his curry with a spoon and frowned into it. "But I was having a bad night, and I wanted to have fun. I didn't want to go to a _bar_ and get felt up and all that bullshit.”

“So you went and tried to get _beat_?”

Makki's blush crept into his hairline, and he let out a little whine. "I get it— I was wrong! I'm sorry." He looked away, sucking curry into his mouth. "Don't gotta be mean about it…"

Mattsun pointed his fork at him. “Don’t be stupid. Take more classes, learn your limits, learn how to ask for what you want. Find someone to teach you the things you can’t learn from a book.”

“What about you?”

Mattsun blinked at him. “What?”

Makki smiled, resting his cheek on his fist. “Why don’t you teach me? We clearly had a connection.”

It was true—Mattsun couldn’t deny it. He also couldn’t deny that he wanted to teach Makki all about the BDSM lifestyle and how to do it safely, first and foremost. He wanted to teach him _manners_ , and how to take care of himself and wanted to see if his boast of passing the blowjob class was _really_ true. He wanted to try shibari on him, wanted to know if he squirmed when Mattsun used certain toys and tools on him, or what sounds he made during sex. Wanted to make him cry and then soothe the tears from his cheeks. 

His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, then frowned when he saw that Luke had sent him an image. Upon checking it, however, he found it was a .gif of someone giving the middle finger. Mattsun snarled at it and slapped his phone face down on the table.

Makki blinked at him, leaning forward to see his face better. “You okay?”

“Shit.” Mattsun had forgotten momentarily where he was. He pressed a hand to his eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should probably go home.”

Makki cocked his head, looking closely at him. "At least finish your food. We just got it." He paused while Mattsun stirred his rice, then said, "You're still upset about what was bothering you last night?"

“Something like that.”

Makki pushed his plate a little closer to him. “Eat. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No, it’s okay. I should go. You stay and finish your meal. I can give you my number if you need any more help finding your way around or… with anything." He held out his hand, and Makki handed over his phone. Mattsun put in his contact info, going so far as to add his email, then he stood and handed it back. "I'll pay for the meal. I'm sorry I ended it like this."

Makki smiled up at him. “It’s not a problem. Thank you for lunch.” He reached over and touched Mattsun’s hand. “And for last night.”

After a moment where he wasn't sure what to say in the face of Makki's sincerity, Mattsun just squeezed his hand before going to the bar to pay for their meal. He left the restaurant and began the walk toward home. He typed a furious message back to Luke— _dont be a dick. fucking call me back! we need to talk_

So when his phone buzzed again he expected it to be another angry message from Luke, but instead, it was from an unknown number— _my offer still stands._

Mattsun stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at his phone. Then he turned and looked back the way he’d come. It was Makki who had sent the text, obviously. — _what offer?_

_— to make you feel better_

And another right behind it— _we don’t have to do anything serious. im good with casual. don’t even have to do any of the kinky stuff_

Mattsun laughed at the phrase ‘kinky stuff.’ His entire life insofar was pretty kinky. He tried to call Luke—two rings before a purposeful hang-up. Frustrated but having absolutely no way to communicate it, he dashed out a reply to Makki— _are you sure?_

_— like i said, i’m good with casual_

_— i’ll wait for you then. when you leave the restaurant turn right and cross the street. ill be here._

_— your place then?_

_— unless yours is closer_

_— it is not_

_— mine then_

He didn’t have to wait long. Makki waved at him from across the street while he waited for it to be safe to cross, then he hurried across the traffic before the _Walk_ sign flashed green. As he got closer he handed Mattsun a plastic bag with a styrofoam box inside.

“I brought you your leftovers,” he said, smiling. “Thought you might be hungry later.”

“Thank you.” Mattsun smiled back, taking the bag and glancing over his shoulder at the traffic. “Be careful, I don’t need you flattened like a pancake.”

“Hey,” Makki laughed, “don’t worry. I’ve got debt to pay. Anyone that hits me can pay for it.”

“Not if you’re in the wrong.”

Makki waved a dismissive hand. “Details.”

“I’m serious.” Mattsun began walking, Makki following along beside him, hopping a little like an excitable puppy.

“I’ll be careful. I promised you I’d take care of myself, didn’t I?”

Smiling, Mattsun nodded as they rounded the corner. Was it his fault if, suddenly in this man’s presence, he felt better? Was that awful of him, to want to be happy? “It’s not a long trip. I live over in the Village.”

“Where’s that? New here, remember?”

“It’s Greenwich Village. West Manhattan, NYU, bohemian, lots of trees and jazz clubs.”

“Oh, sounds fancy.”

Mattsun made a face. “It’s old. Our brownstone is falling apart.”

* * *

They stepped into the brownstone half an hour later after a short walk where Makki kept insinuating dirty things about the architecture that made Mattsun choke on a laugh on more than one occasion.

“My roommate’s out,” Mattsun said as they walked across the living room towards the stairs.

“Oh, so there’s no need to be quiet?” Makki grinned, looking up the open space the curving stairs made all the way to the top floor. “Wow, this place is tall.” He had to talk louder when Mattsun hurried to the kitchen to drop his food off.

“My room’s on the third floor,” Mattsun told him as he came back, reaching out and taking his hand—then realized he did it without thinking about it and had to push down the butterflies in his stomach.

“Gross,” Makki groaned. “Stairs.”

“Come on.” Mattsun laughed, pulling him all the way up to the third floor and into his bedroom. Once there, seeing Makki in his space and looking like he belonged, Mattsun had a hard time telling himself the reasons he shouldn’t kiss him and took Makki’s face in his hands to do so. Makki made a soft little sound upon being kissed and stumbled backward as Mattsun pushed him towards the bed. He tasted of the curry he’d eaten—spicy turmeric and ginger—and his hands came up to tangle in Mattsun’s hair and deepen the kiss. He wasn't shy about licking his way into Mattsun's mouth, tracing his teeth with his tongue, and exploring his mouth like he was on a mission.

"Ah, shit," Makki groaned as his knees hit the mattress, and he pulled away to sit down hard on it. "You've got a fucking _piercing_ under your tongue?"

“Oh, yeah,” Mattsun said, laughing. “Forgot it was there, honestly.” He'd gotten it done mostly out of spite at nineteen when his older brother told him it was stupid and he shouldn't do it. Sometimes he regretted it, but then he remembered the look on stupid Aito’s face when he'd come home with it and remembered how much he liked it instead.

“How the _hell_ do you forget? Shit. You gotta warn a guy.” Makki licked his lips, pushing his tongue out as if trying to imagine what it would be like to have the little circlet under his tongue. “It’s fucking sexy. Goddamn.”

Mattsun grinned, amused. “You’ve got a mouth on you when you’re horny.” He pushed Makki backward to lay him on the bed, leaning over him to kiss him again, spreading his hands up under Makki’s shirt to feel how warm his skin was. Makki arched off the bed and into his touch. It’d been so long since Mattsun had felt so warm—inside and out. He tucked his face into the side of Makki’s throat, inhaling the soft scent of him and kissing the pulse that beat against his lips. Hands curled in his hair, holding him close, and Makki’s body shifted upwards into his touch.

“I want you,” Makki said softly, tightening his fingers enough to make Mattsun groan and rock into him.

He sat up, brushing his nose over Makki’s cheek, kissing him again just as his phone began to buzz in his pocket. They both jumped in surprise, and Mattsun pulled away to dig it out and leaned back on his heels when he saw that it was Luke finally calling him. He said something obscene and pushed himself away from Makki as if he were on fire. Suddenly he felt like throwing up—what was he doing? As the phone continued to buzz in his fingers he glanced up at Makki—sitting on his elbows, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, hair mussed, flushed and breathing hard.

“Shit,” he muttered, sliding off the bed and moving away, having to put distance between them in order to gather his thoughts. The phone switched the call to voicemail and he leaned against his dresser and dropped his phone on to it to scrub both his hands through his hair.

The squeaking of the bed told him that Makki was sitting up and moving off of it and he hoped Makki wouldn’t—would—come closer to him. “Are you ok?” Makki asked from beside the bed. He didn’t move, and Mattsun was both grateful and ashamed with how much he wanted to wrap his arms around him.

“I—” he began, then stopped and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t hurt him. “I can’t… do this. I don’t know why I thought I could.” At the look on Makki’s face—shock, hurt, consternation—he added quickly, “It’s not you. I swear. That sounds like such a fucking _line_ but it’s not.”

Makki frowned at him from across the room while the moment hung in the air. Then he sighed and began to button and straighten his shirt. “Sorry.”

“No, I just—” Mattsun said quickly, blurting it out before he could change his mind: “I— _fuck_ —I’ve got a boyfriend.”


	3. Chapter 3

Makki stared at Mattsun, incredulous. Of course, he had a boyfriend. “Oh,” he said, keeping his voice as light as possible so Mattsun wouldn’t know how hurt he was. It made sense, really. Mattsun was handsome in a way that _hurt_ and of course Makki would pick the person that was already taken to develop an intense and sudden crush on.

“It’s a complicated situation,” Mattsun said, staying as far away from him as he could in the small space of the bedroom.

“I’m sure it is.” Makki checked that the buttons on his shirt were done up right, then tugged his sleeves straight. “I’ll go, then. I don’t want—”

“Wait,” Mattsun stepped forward, one hand extended, “no, I don’t want you to think that…”

Makki forced a laugh, shoving down the lump of his disappointment. “No, no. I get it. It’s cool. I said casual, didn’t I? Friendship is pretty casual.”

Mattsun watched him, his dark eyes troubled, worried, trying to read him, but Makki could hide his feelings from even himself sometimes, so this stranger had no hopes of reading him. Makki wanted to ask who it was, and why he’d even allowed Makki inside his bedroom, and why it was complicated… and, if they’d come this far, why not keep going? Makki had never been the _other man_ , but for Mattsun he thought that maybe it’d be worth it.

Mattsun’s phone began to buzz again and he startled, looking guilty as he turned back to silence it.

“I’ll go,” Makki told him, already moving towards the door. He worried the inside of his cheek with his teeth, the rough texture reminding him of all the scars that were already there.

“Let me walk you out.”

“No,” Makki said quickly, waving a hand and slapping the biggest smile on his face he could—hide behind a smile and they wouldn’t know you were hurting. “I know where the door is. It’s fine.” And before Mattsun could say anything else, Makki descended the stairs and was out the door and into the cold before the pressure behind his eyes could flood over with tears.

These days the tears were never far off, always lurking just beneath the surface. He was good at crying, at hiding it. He’d done enough of it in the last two years, after all. As he walked—having picked a random direction to simply be moving away from the house—he worked his shoulder in its socket, letting the pain zip through his neck and send tingling sensations down to his fingers. He walked until he was lost, rotating his shoulder until it was screaming at him and the fingers of his left hand were numb. Then he began opening and closing his fingers, the needles poking all over his nerves.

A weight was settling around his chest, clenching his ribs down and making his breath come in short gasps. He had hoped that moving to the city would allow him a fresh start, a chance to recreate himself without ghosts of his past hovering over him. The chances of reinventing himself were growing slimmer by the day, the broken cracks of his core self seeping through the fragile, hastily built new version that he tried to show to the world. No matter what he did he knew that he was essentially broken.

“Hey, watch it—” Someone shouted, and a hand gripped his shirt and yanked him backward. “Gonna get your stupid-ass flattened.”

He looked back to see the man who had pulled him away from traffic scowling at his phone as he walked away, already forgetting that he’d just saved Makki’s life. Leaning against a pole, Makki watched the traffic whizzing past and the people streaming around him. He felt so disconnected from everything ever since—

His phone began to ring, insistently humming against his leg. The screen was an unfamiliar but local number, one that Makki didn’t know off the top of his head. He let it go to voicemail, then listened to the message left by a curt sounding receptionist informing him that he’d missed his appointment time and would he please call back to reschedule.

He hadn’t even noticed what time it was—well past four when his first meeting with his new therapist was supposed to be. Maybe he’d call tomorrow to reschedule, but just now the idea of talking to someone, of getting to know and attempting to trust a stranger, was too daunting a task for his brain. There was also a text from Mattsun— _did u make it home ok?_ but Makki didn’t open it, didn’t want to pretend to be alright just now.

It took him another hour to get home—at first trying to find his way by reading the street signs and trying to think through the grid system of the city… but eventually, his feet began to hurt, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire—he wanted to douse it in strong pharmaceuticals, take a shower, and crawl into bed to watch movies until he was too tired to stay awake, so he pulled up Google Maps on his phone and followed the quickest route home.

* * *

He had to make his way around a gaggle of children playing soccer in the overgrown courtyard of his building, climb a zig-zagging set of creaking stairs, and fumble with the keys in the door for a moment before he was able to get into his apartment. He still hadn't managed to finish unpacking, so he nearly tripped over seven boxes before he made it to his bathroom and stripped his clothes. The shower he took was long and hot, stinging his skin and seeping down into his muscles. He swallowed water from the tap with two of his doctor-prescribed pain pills, hoping that they would mask the pain in his shoulder. One of them he chewed, bitter powder coating his tongue—he couldn’t get the memory of Mattsun’s taste out of his mouth, his lips still tingled with it, the bite of metal from the ring under his tongue, warm from the heat of his body. He had to, though. Mattsun wasn’t his, probably wasn’t even his friend anymore—if they ever had been to start with. Maybe… it was still too soon. Two years, Makki thought, was that long enough to get _him_ out of his head? Maybe it wasn’t, and besides, _he_ had said that Makki wasn’t worth it anyway—the six years they’d spent together burned in his brain no matter how much therapy he had or how much anyone in his family told him to _just move on, it’s all in the past now._

His sister, Nora, was doing her best to convince him that the only way to really ‘move on’ was to put himself back out into the dating pool. She'd told him the other day to 'put on your sexy shoes and go get laid' after Makki had kept her on the phone for three hours complaining about how he hadn't been able to find a date at the singles party he'd reluctantly gone to. "Find some dark, sleazy club to go to. Flirt your cute little ass off. Wear a condom," she'd said to him on the phone. And when he was quiet for too long, "Look, it's been a long time. Do you want to let him dictate your life even when he's gone?"

“No.”

“Then go. You can do it. Fuck Aaron,”—he’d flinched at her use of _his_ name—“he’s not a part of you anymore.”

Makki had gone to the BDSM club on a whim—he’d not technically been invited inside yet—but he still managed to pay the fee and get in, falling back on a false confidence he’d learned from his sister to lie his way past.

She was older than him by several years, and they’d always been close growing up despite the fact that they were only half-siblings. She was from their father’s first marriage—coppery red hair, startling green eyes, taller than most of the boys she’d dated, stubborn as a rock, and with a tongue so sharp she’d been grounded more often than not over her remarks. She was the only one that had understood how he’d felt after all that had happened with Aaron—even thinking the name made him sick—and she was the only one he turned to when he needed comfort ever since his last therapist had taken a sabbatical and not returned.

He’d met Mattsun at the club, picking him out of the crowd simply because he’d been the first person Makki had seen that didn’t look connected to someone in one way or another. But he was connected, of course, he was. Makki kicked himself again... as if he could have known.

The water was cold now, but Makki stood under the spray shivering until he felt completely numb. It was hard to catch his breath, and his nose began to run. When he finally stepped out, he realized he'd forgotten to get a clean towel and used the same one he'd used the last two days simply because he didn't care. He didn't even have the energy to dry himself completely, and instead just draped it over his head to catch most of the droplets that fell onto his neck and back.

He left the light in the bathroom on and lay in his bed—full of about eighteen different pillows and three huge, heavy blankets, one of them a full thirty pounds that he used at night to stop his mind from floating away on darkness if he woke with sleep-paralysis. If there was one thing he’d unpacked, it was his vast collection of movies. He didn’t need the physical copies, all of them these days had Digital Library options, but he loved the textile feel of the cases, popping them open and shut sometimes just to hear the clicking.

He tugged his laptop over and curled up under his blankets, liking the feel of the soft cotton on his sensitive skin, and pulled up the digital collection, clicking a random movie— _Rear Window_ , the original with James Stewart, a favorite of his—and lay in bed letting his mind focus on the story and problems of the characters instead of his own. He wondered if he sat at the window of his apartment now that he was in the city if he would see some of the crazy things James Stewart did—but hoped that he'd never see a woman murdered. Maybe he'd have to wait for a heatwave in order to spy.

When the movie was over he reluctantly crawled from bed and turned on the night light Nora had given him after everything that had happened. It was bright, that was the main thing, but it also sent stars and planets spinning onto the walls and ceilings of his tiny studio apartment. In order to see them, he had to turn off the main light, but he left the bathroom and kitchenette light on and crawled back into bed under the blankets, pulling the pillows all around him, turning on the heating blanket too, so it felt like someone else was with him. After too long laying awake staring at the new movie he'd put on—Disney's 101 Dalmatians, animated, the best version—he searched for his phone from under all the blankets and pillows and texted Nora— _i met someone. but i think he’s too good for me._

The movie was over before she answered— _NO1 IS GUD ENUF 4 MY BBYBRO._ Then, a moment later— _cll if u wnt_

Makki hesitated, squeezing his phone and trying to figure out the time difference. The sun had been down for a while now, the street-lamps casting orange and yellow shadows across his ceiling chased by twirling stars from the night light. It was maybe five in the morning in Paris. Too early…

His phone lit up with a picture of Nora’s face in a mud mask and giving him the finger. He’d snapped the picture just to piss her off and set it as his contact picture for her. He accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Hey.”

Her voice was quiet and sleepy sounding. “What’s his name?”

He didn’t want to say it aloud, not anymore. “I don’t think we’ll see each other again.” At least not romantically. They did technically work together, after all.

“Why not? He an asshole?”

“No,” Makki whispered. “He’s really … nice.” He hated the way his voice pitched on the last word, how close to tears he was, and the way that Nora caught it and sighed like she knew exactly what he was feeling.

“Wanna tell me about it? About him?”

He had to force the word out through the lump in his throat, “No.” He did, though. He wanted to tell her all about this man who made him feel like he was a person. Who could make him _feel things_ with just his voice and touched him like he was a person and not an object. How he knew he wasn't worth Mattsun's attention or affection. How… Mattsun was already taken, already spoken for, and Makki knew that he should step back and pretend not to exist. 

“Baby,” Nora said, pulling him out of his silent, teary reverie. She called everyone _baby_ , but with him, it was from when they were kids and she couldn’t pronounce _Takahiro_ , the Japanese name his mother had given him from her heritage. He’d kept her last name, too, because _Takahiro Davidson_ just sounded silly. She’d always called him _Baby_ as in, _Where’s Baby? Can I hold Baby? Is Baby hungry?_ and somehow it had stuck even though she also started calling him Makki when they were both old enough that _Baby_ was embarrassing. “Are you still with me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Sorta. Just thinking.”

“Not good for you to do that. Might hurt yourself.”

“Shut up,” he huffed, but unable to muster the feeling behind it.

They were both silent, he closed his eyes so he could better hear her breathing on the other end of the line and imagine that she was with him, cuddled up in bed with him like they had when they were kids, when he’d been recovering from his injury, her arm over his chest and her coconut and vanilla shampoo helping hold him down from floating away. At one point she whispered, “ _Non, non. C’est mon petit frère._ It’s alright, go back to sleep.” She was talking to her husband, Frédéric, a French journalist who she’d met doing shows in Paris and married after only a year of whirlwind romance.

"Nora," he whispered when she was back with him. "Can you… check for me?"

Nora said gently, “He’s in jail, Makki.”

“Please?”

She sighed and tapped on her phone for a few minutes before she said, "Inmate number 77312 still locked away. You're safe."

"Thank you." And then after a moment, he said before he lost his nerve, "I'm tired of being this way…"

“You’re perfect,” she said immediately. And, knowing her, she probably thought it was true.

_I’m broken_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he just cried. “C-Can you read to me?”

He heard rustling as she got up from bed and heard her walking through her apartment. "Where we left off?"

“Mhm-hmm…” He tasted blood where he’d chewed the inside of his cheek open. He used to bite his lip before he started modeling, but his manager had put a stop to it pretty quickly. He couldn’t show up to a photoshoot with scabs on his lips. He still had a tiny scar in the corner of his mouth that he worried with his teeth, but mostly he was good now, not leaving any open wounds where the camera would normally see it. Especially not on his face.

Nora began to speak in a soft, slow voice, reading aloud from the place in _La Belle et Le Bête_ where she'd stopped after the last time he'd called her crying. He couldn't understand the words, but the sound of her voice soothed him. He held the phone close as he stared at the stars on his ceiling, scared to close his eyes, afraid of the darkness that plagued his nightmares. He'd been in the dark for three days… eyes taped shut… suspended… tears stinging his cheeks under the duct tape, choking on his sobs that no one could hear. He'd developed a fear of the darkness after that and sometimes even blinking frightened him.

So he watched the lights, the twirling of the stars and planets, until his eyes were burning and he couldn’t hold them open anymore then he drifted off into sleep, soothed by his sister’s voice.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just let me sleep,_ Mattsun thought, half-dead on his feet and stumbling towards the dressing room. He’d been so busy over the last week he’d barely had time to go home, much less sleep at it. He had no time to seek out Makki (he’d never texted, even though Mattsun texted _him_. He was getting real pissed off with people ignoring him.), nor did he have time to deal with Luke. When he’d called last week it had been to fight, just to yell for the pleasure of it—telling Mattsun all the ways he was making life hard for them and how he should fix it. Mattsun had flopped onto his bed and listened to him rant for a solid seven minutes before hanging up on him. They hadn’t spoken since.

"Hey," Devin called as he rushed after him. "You've got about an hour, and then we'll need you back in make-up so we can do the last shoot of the day."

Mattsun groaned, scowling at him. “Of the week, right?”

“Yes!” Devin smiled, tapping on his Blackberry. “Then you’ll have a whole three days off.”

“…Great.”

“You should sleep.”

Mattsun rolled his eyes. “Thank you for the advice.”

Devin clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Okay, see you later! I’ll call you when I have more news about the schedule.” He walked away, tip-tapping away on his phone.

Mattsun sighed. Devin was a _great_ manager—he always got Mattsun work he needed when he needed it… but sometimes he did his job too well. It was almost over now, though, thank God. He just wanted to shower and sleep until someone came in to take him to his next appointment. In the dressing room, he began digging through his locker—barely one at all, just tiny storage cubbies the models were assigned to keep belongings if they dared to bring any—searching for some not-dirty clothes to put on but unable to find any. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, mostly to himself because he'd been an idiot for not bringing more.

“Mattsun?”

He took a breath, then turned and found Luke standing behind him, just far enough to be out of reach but close enough that Mattsun knew he should have heard him earlier. He scowled at Luke, unsure if this was going to be another fight and unwilling to stick around if it was. 

“I’m sorry,” Luke said as he stepped closer, his voice already on the edge of tears. “Please … I’m so tired of not talking to you.”

_You’re the one that put us in this position,_ Mattsun thought, turning fully to face him, wringing an old shirt in his hands. “I don’t want to have this talk at work.”

“When else? I never see you anymore.” He came forward, reaching out and touching Mattsun's arm, squeezing gently and sliding down to take his hand. The fact that Mattsun didn't pull away seemed to encourage him. “I just… I don't even know how to tell you how bad I feel for everything.”

_You don't want to know how bad I feel then,_ Mattsun thought, remembering the way Makki’s lips felt under his.

“I know I shouldn't have yelled at you for not wanting to live together. I know you're a private person.”

_I'm not._

“I know you like your space.”

_I don't._

"I just want to show you how much I love you, but … I can do that in other ways. I've been doing it for a while now." He laughed a little, sounding self-deprecating as if he was ashamed of the things he'd done in their relationship.

"It's… alright," Mattsun murmured. He didn't know what else to say. Anything else and Luke was liable to burst into tears.

Luke raised Mattsun’s hand to press it to his cheek, closing his eyes and rubbing his face on Mattsun’s fingers. “Do you forgive me?”

Mattsun didn’t answer for so long that Luke raised his eyes to look at him, and it broke Mattsun’s heart in half. “I’m not angry,” he said, spreading his fingers a little on Luke’s face, touching the lowest curls of his hair. Luke dropped to his knees—Mattsun wanted to yank him back up—and pressed his face into Mattsun’s hip, hugging his arms around Mattsun’s leg.

Luke said into his jeans, “I don’t want to have to start over… you’re my everything.” He sounded like there were tears in his throat that he had to talk around.

“Luke, come on,” Mattsun said, getting frustrated, “get up. This isn’t the place for—” He stopped, clenching his teeth together when Luke pressed a kiss to his leg.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Luke whispered.

This is how it happened—always. Luke would apologize and cry and hug him and tell him how much he loved him… and Mattsun would accept it because he had no clue how to tell him no in that instance. He rested a hand on Luke's head, about to tell him to get up, about to say that they needed to figure everything out later, talk about their relationship and spend a long time talking, figure out why they were fighting all the time, what they could do about it… but at that moment, the door opened, and someone came into the room.

They both looked over and saw Makki in the doorway. He blinked at them, staring at Luke, his eyes dragging up to meet Mattsun’s. His face was blatant shock for a heartbeat before he allowed a polite mask to slide onto it. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know—” He paused, looking away from them. “Probably need to lock the door if you’re going to do that.”

Luke laughed, standing slowly, one hand flattening on Mattsun’s stomach. “We were just talking.”

Makki nodded. “Sure.”

There was a long beat of silence, Makki staring at them, then Luke stepped over to him and extended a hand. "I'm Luke Campbell. Are you new here? I know a lot of faces, but I haven't seen you around much."

It took Makki a moment too long to take his hand. His eyes flicked to Mattsun and away. He was paler than before, Mattsun noticed. “Yeah, not even been here a month. I— I’m Hanamaki.”

“Good to meet you,” Luke said, smiling. He didn’t see the way that Makki looked at Mattsun, nor the way Mattsun flinched when their gazes met.

Guilt swelled up in him. The fight he and Luke had seemed so trivial now. The sounds that Makki made when he was kissed echoed in his mind. He reached out and touched a finger to Luke's back, wanting to apologize to him.

“Well, I’ll just—” Makki hesitated, drumming his fingers on his leg, then slipping out the door like a small animal running from the hounds on its tail.

Luke turned back to Mattsun, eyebrows raised. "He seem on edge?"

“He walked in on you on your knees, why wouldn’t he be on edge?” Mattsun was surprised his voice came out sounding steady, not angry or guilt-ridden.

Luke smiled, taking his hand and kissing his fingers, biting gently into one of Mattsun’s knuckles. “Want me to get back down there?”

"No." Mattsun pulled his hand away. "I need to shower." Before Luke could say whatever lewd thing was on his mind, Mattsun said, "Don't even suggest it. The showers here are small, and besides, I've told you _not at work_.” He took the towel he’d found, the cleanest clothes he had, and patted Luke’s chest before he headed towards the door. As soon as he got to the door it opened, Akaashi stepped in.

Luke rushed forward and threw an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, grinning. The two of them were close only because Akaashi didn’t have the heart to tell him how much Luke got on his nerves. He was also Mattsun’s best friend, so he put up with Luke and tried to be his friend without too much complaint unless he got riotously drunk and in a bad mood. “Akaashi!” Luke grinned, and he was just short enough that Akaashi had to bend a little. “We’re not fighting anymore. Do you wanna go get drinks tonight?”

Akaashi's eyebrows pressed together, and he glanced up at Mattsun. “Everything’s alright, then?”

Mattsun couldn't meet his eyes. Luke didn't seem to notice and said happily, "Yeah! We always work it out, y' know? So—drinks? We can get everyone together."

Akaashi shrugged, taking Luke’s arm from around his shoulder so he could straighten up. “You want to do that, Mattsun?”

“I don’t care,” Mattsun said, even though going out was the last thing he wanted to do.

Akaashi frowned at him for a long moment and eventually said, “I’ll tell Stacy. We’ll see who else wants to come.”

Luke cheered, excited at the prospect of spending time with everyone, and Mattsun pushed past them and to the little bathroom and too small shower that always had a weird smell coming from the drain. It was cold and quick, mostly Mattsun just wanted to make sure he didn’t smell like day-old sweat, and when he was drying off he heard Akaashi come into the bathroom and say, “I thought—”

“I know,” Mattsun said over him.

“You said you were going to end it.”

“I _know_. I just—it didn’t happen, okay?”

“Like the last three months?” Akaashi paused. “Or however long it’s been. You need to be honest with him.”

Mattsun could only groan and scrub his face with his hands. “He keeps doing all this shit at _work_ ," he snarled, trying not to slam the shower door closed as he came out and began to yank his clothes on. "I don't know what to do."

“You don’t want to be with him anymore.”

"…I don't know. I feel like—God. It's so stupid—every time I look at him, I feel so guilty. I know we've put all this time in our relationship, but… it's not going to work. I know it's not. But I…" He sighed, rubbing the towel over his hair to try and dry it. The stylist would hate him for it, but he didn’t care at the moment. “Every time I go to tell him that he just… I can't stand to see that _look_ on his face. Like I’m betraying everything we’ve worked for.”

Akaashi sat beside him, their shoulders touching, then Akaashi laying a hand on his damp hair when Mattsun bent over, burying his face in his hands. “I mean… you are.”

Mattsun groaned into his hands, feeling the heat in his chest like a hot poker stabbing at his heart.

"That doesn't mean you have to stay with him. If you're not happy, then you can't make him happy."

"I just hate that I feel like I'm stringing him along." He sat back up, scrubbing his towel through his hair one last time, and then finishing getting dressed. "I've got another shoot soon. I should go."

“Why’d you agree to drinks tonight? I know you don't want to go.”

Mattsun shrugged. “Maybe he deserves some good memories before I break his heart.”

Akaashi went to the door, glancing back at him. “You're not responsible for his emotions.”

_I am, though._ “Sure. Go on, I’ll see you tonight. Going home?”

“Yeah. Want me to bring you a change of clothes before tonight?”

“Please.”

Akaashi nodded, but his mouth pinched in concern. "Did you ever call someone about the dryer?"

“Why don't you do it?” Mattsun snapped.

"Don't be an ass," Akaashi said, then slipped out the door.

Mattsun went back to the locker room to stow his clothes and old towel and found a message from Makki on his phone. — _ur bf told me to come for drinks_

_— you certainly can_

He didn't know if he wanted Makki to come. On the one hand, he wanted to get to know him better. On the other, it could be awkward, especially if Mattsun managed to talk to Luke beforehand. He knew how big of a lie that was even as he said it. He wouldn't talk to him today. Telling Luke before they all went out was just a recipe for disaster. Afterward, then. Or maybe tomorrow. Sometime soon, anyway.

— _r u sure u'd b okay w/it?_

Mattsun stared at his phone, guilt, and longing tearing a hole through his gut.

“Hey!” Devin called from the doorway. “You’re late!”

“I’m sorry,” Mattsun said, typing a hurried message. “I lost track of time.”

"Well, hurry up!"

— _of course. i'll text u adrs l8r_

* * *

“Oh, you came!” Luke exclaimed happily. Mattsun looked up from the table he and their friends were all crammed into to see Makki making his way towards them, weaving through the crowd. They were in one of the regular bars they went to when they all got together—young crowd, cheap drinks, the lights low and dark. Their group of friends were all from the modeling agency: Akaashi; Luke; Mattsun; Akaashi’s friend and make-up artist, Stacy; one of the hair professionals, Emma; and another male model, Italian, his accent so strong that when he got drunk none of them could understand him, Nicola.

Makki smiled a nervous smile at Luke. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”

He was introduced around, Emma assuring him that if he forgot their names, it was _totally fine_ since there were a few of them, and he was so new to the group. He was squished into the booth opposite Mattsun—which made him both happy that he was so far _and_ upset that they weren't closer—in-between Nicola and Stacy, captured by their excitable presence. Makki chatted with them, accepting the drinks they pushed at him, looking like he already fit in with them. He even let Nicola lean against his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Mattsun knew it would be something suggestive and provocative, but what shocked him was Makki turning and whispering back to him something that, judging by Nicola's widened eyes and devious grin, was just as perverted. Makki's eyes glanced up, catching Mattsun's gaze—and Mattsun simmered with jealousy. He wanted to trade wicked whispers with Makki.

Luke raised his face, his mouth directly next to Mattsun’s ear to be heard over the music and the crowd. “He seems nice.”

Mattsun nodded, shifting when Luke pressed against his chest. “I’ve talked to him a bit. He is nice.”

“I think he’ll fit in well. Nic seems to like him.”

"Nic likes everyone," Akaashi said.

Mattsun scowled—jealously a burning flame behind his breastbone. "Maybe a little too much."

“Nonsense!” Luke laughed. “Nic needs someone to reign him in.”

He didn’t respond, instead only chugging the drink he had in front of him. The idea of Makki and _Nic_? Bullshit. It would be… It would never work—for many reasons. But then he got hold of his emotions… why shouldn't it? Nicola was nice. Makki was nice. Makki smelled of flowers and summer and sweet things. Makki would make a good boyfriend—Mattsun didn't have exclusive rights to him, just because he saw him first. He pushed at Akaashi's arm in a sudden near panic. "Move. I'm going to get another drink."

Akaashi studied him, grinning, then took his empty glass and slid from the booth. “I’ll get it.”

He flounced away to the bar. Mattsun and Luke watched him simultaneously flirting with the bartender and one of the men sitting at the bar.

“Do you think he’s gonna get laid tonight?” Luke asked conversationally.

“Doesn’t he always?”

Nicola said, “I’d do him.”

Stacy leaned around Makki and smacked Nic on the arm. “Stop that! You had your chance.”

“Not my fault he didn’t fall for my dashing good looks.”

Luke said, “He did— you just didn’t follow through well enough.”

Nicola flushed, and everyone laughed, including Makki, and when Akaashi came back, he handed out a round of shots while declaring that they should all hurry up and drink them so he could go back to the bar and get more from the cute bartender.

As the night wore on, the group evolved to include Makki effortlessly. It was like he'd always been a part of them. Or at least they were all good at getting drunk together. And they got exorbitantly drunk. Their table was a raucous of laughter, and several times Mattsun caught the eyes of a few other parties glaring over at them when they got too loud.

He was too drunk to care, though. Even though he was exhausted, he thoroughly enjoyed the hours with his friends, and getting to know Makki as he began to blurt the most ridiculous things—how he _adored_ gummy candies ever since he was a baby; how he had over six hundred movies; that flamingos were his favorite animal for no other reason than “Have you _seen_ how cute the babies are?”;how, one winter, he’d snuck into a private residence of some celebrity (but he wouldn’t say who) and gone skinny dipping with his friends in their pool. “Nearly froze my balls off!”

At some point, though, Makki's laugh was particularly loud, too sharp, the tone of it all wrong and far too gone. Mattsun stood after they'd both finished their drinks—before Akaashi could get those drinks refilled—and gestured for Nic to move out of the way so he could pull a wobbling Makki to his feet. "Come on," he said, his instincts to care for and protect overshadowing his exhaustion and jealously, "let's get you home."

Makki leaned hard against him, one arm around his waist and pressing his face up into Matsun’s throat. “Home?” he asked, his voice soft and on the verge of lewd.

Luke and Akaashi both heard this and their faces were stunned and affronted, respectively; to avoid their questions he turned Makki around and had him say his goodbyes over his shoulder, promising to see them again even as Mattsun dragged him out the door and towards the road so he could hail a cab. "Hey, y' doin' okay?" Mattsun asked—then having to take a moment to stuff his South Carolina accent back down that came out whenever he got drunk or—and this he loathed—during sex. It wasn't that he _hated_ it, but it reminded him too much of his brother's stupid-ass _bourgeoise_ attitude. “Makki, you’re going to make it?”

Makki giggled, leaning against him and sliding one hand up Mattsun's shirt, his fingers warm on Mattsun's stomach. "Mhm-hmm." His smile was crooked, and the way he leaned against Mattsun told him that no, Makki would not make it home by himself. One of his hands slid up under the back of Mattsun’s jacket, his fingers already frozen in the chilly winter air. Snowflakes kissed his cheeks, melting into his eyelashes and glittering in the light of the overhead lamps.

A taxi slid into the space beside them, and Mattsun carefully dropped Makki into the backseat.

“Where to?” the driver asked in an accent of the French-speaking African countries that Mattsun _adored_ as he looked over his shoulder and eyed Makki with a mixture of _what the fuck is he okay_ and _if this boy throws up in my cab I’m charging you so much extra and kicking you to the curb_.

Mattsun leaned down to Makki and touched his face to get his attention. His eyes were out of focus and hazy, and Mattsun realized that he was way drunker than he'd seemed in the darkened lights of the club. He said, "Where do you live? Makki—hey, look at me—what's your address?"

Makki’s smile was slippery and vague, his hands coming up and missing once before clutching at Mattsun’s arm. “You,” his words were considerably more sideways than they’d been half an hour ago, “gonna take me home?” His words were suggestive and breathy, and the cab driver raised his eyebrows with equal parts surprise and impatience.

Mattsun said, “Where do you live? Tell him.” He pointed at the cab driver through the grates of the plastic that separated the front and back seats.

"Mhm…" Makki's face furrowed in confusion. "I dunno." After a moment of silence where the cabbie and Mattsun both stared at him in baffled confusion, he said, "Jersey."

The cabbie immediately blurted, "I am not driving to Jersey, my friend. If you want to do that, find a different ride."

Mattsun shushed him with a wave of his hand without looking at him. “Hanamaki, come on, think. Where do you live in _New York City_?”

Makki blinked at him, lips pursed. "I…" he began, then wet his lips with his tongue and looked away, frowning and patting at his pants, "wrote it down. Some—somewhere." Mattsun leaned back and watched as Makki fumbled out his phone and began flipping through the apps, squinting at the screen. He didn't want to look over his shoulder but found himself doing it anyway, seeing what looked like several packing and moving lists, grocery lists, what looked like lists of restaurants or places he liked in the city, and—finally—Makki gasped and touched one of the notes on his phone then held it up in triumph. "I found it!"

Mattsun took it from his wildly waving hand so he didn't throw it across the sidewalk and held the phone screen up to the cab driver. He took Makki's hand in his other to hold him still. "Know where that is?"

The driver squinted at the screen through the divider and nodded. “You getting in or staying?”

Mattsun frowned down at the giggling, wobbling mess that was Makki. Honestly, he wasn't sure that the guy could navigate an empty parking lot, much less any stairs, doors, or other obstacles. He held up a hand to the cab driver in a _wait a sec_ motion and pulled out his phone, turning to look over his shoulder back towards the bar as it began to ring. He had to raise a hand and grab Makki's when the man kept pawing at it. 

"Hey—something wrong?" Luke asked on the line, voice raised over the music in the background.

“I think I need to take Makki home,” Mattsun said into the phone. “He’s a lot more out of it than I thought. Not sure he’ll make it on his own.”

All Mattsun could hear was the music and a long silence on the other end. He waited, though, to see what Luke would say to that. Clearly, he wasn't happy about it. Mattsun waited while the cab driver waved impatiently at him and said some rude words in his language when Mattsun held up a finger, more insistently waving him to patience. Finally, the door to the bar opened, and Luke stepped out, weaving his way through the crowded sidewalk and toward them.

When he got to them, he was scowling at Mattsun, his phone still pressed—foolishly, Mattsun thought—to his ear. "You're leaving?"

"Yes." Mattsun glanced pointedly at Makki who was now shivering on the seat. "Look at him. He can't sit up straight."

Luke looked at him too, his scowl changing shape from upset to distrustful. “You’re taking him _home_?”

"To his house," Mattsun clarified, and when Luke still looked angry, he said, "I'm going to dump him in bed and then go home and sleep for thirty-six hours."

“Why? He’s an adult; he can take care of—”

"No, he _can’t_ ,” Mattsun scoffed, gesturing towards Makki, who was rocking back and forth in the seat. “I’m just going to make sure he isn’t kidnapped on his way—ow, ow, ow, hey!” He flinched as Makki’s hand became a manacle grip around Mattsun’s wrist.

Luke's face morphed into one of worry, and he reached a hand out to grab Makki's arm too. "The fuck?"

Makki’s eyes were wide with fear as he gripped at Mattsun’s arm. “Don’t let him take me,” he said, his voice raspy and cracking on the last word.

Exchanging a glance with Luke, Mattsun patted Makki's hand and tried to pretend the pain he felt in the bones of his wrist didn't exist. When he spoke, his voice was as gentle as he could make it even through the pain and the alcohol singing through his blood, "It's okay, I won't. I'll be right here." He looked over at Luke. "Like I said, I'm taking him home. Then I'm going home, and I'm sleeping for at least thirteen hours. So I'll see you later, okay?"

Luke didn't look particularly happy, but the cab driver turned and said impatiently, “If that's what you're doing then come on, I have places to be tonight.”

“The only place you have to be is where we need you to be, ass—”

“Luke,” Mattsun hissed, “do not be rude.”

He frowned and rolled his eyes, pouting like a child. “Call me when you feel better, then.”

“Fine,” Mattsun said. “Make sure you get home safe, too, okay?”

Luke reached a hand and curved it over the back of Mattsun's neck, pulling him down for a kiss that was chaste enough but went on longer than he—and the cabbie, apparently, by the annoyed cough he did—thought was polite. "Be safe," Luke said, moving away and glancing at Makki again as if he didn't trust him.

Mattsun waved at him and slid into the cab, pushing Makki gently to the other side and closing the door before he or Luke could say anything else—and was glad he did because the driver took off almost before he had closed the door.

* * *

He had to carefully maneuver a stumbling, sick Makki across a tiny courtyard and up several flights of stairs. The cab ride had jostled him and made him nearly sick—moaning periodically and clenching his eyes closed and shivering, which made both Mattsun and the cab driver worry that he was going to be sick in the car. Thankfully he didn’t, though, and Mattsun managed to help him up the stairs and into the little studio apartment.

He paused at the threshold, staring at the scattering of boxes that looked like a deliberate attempt at maze building. "Come on," Mattsun muttered, hiking Makki up a little so he could maneuver him around the boxes and let him sink into his bed after stripping off his snow soaked jacket.

Makki curled up into a little ball, hugging his knees to his chest and pressing his face to them as he moaned again, a low, dangerously sick sounding sound. It made Mattsun feel terrible; he knew he should have noticed when Makki was getting drunk and stop him from drinking a lot earlier. He didn't have a very high tolerance for alcohol, unlike Mattsun and the rest of his friends who used to drink regularly every other night.

“Don’t…” Makki said, his voice thick.

Mattsun leaned over, leaning one hand hard on the bed to not fall on top of him, and touched Makki’s arm. “Hey, why don’t you sit up? I’ll get you some water. When’s the last time you ate anything?”

"Don't leave…" Makki said, grabbing ahold of Mattsun's hand, his grip the too-tight hold of someone not entirely in control of their limbs.

Mattsun glanced at the door, the guilt he felt for the last few days pressing hard and hot just behind his breastbone. He _shouldn’t_ , even though they weren't going to sleep together, Mattsun knew he should go home. That's what he told Luke he was going to do, so that's what he should do. But Makki's hand was trembling, he looked on the verge of tears, and Mattsun worried that he could get sick in the night. He squeezed Makki's hand and laid his other hand over it. "Of course."

Makki let out a breath and fell back onto the pillows, his body suddenly going limp, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment of stillness, Mattsun thought that maybe he was content to lay down, so Mattsun stood and carefully pulled off his and Makki's shoes, dragged a blanket over him (and found that he had one that was so heavy it almost made Mattsun fall over when he picked it up without knowing), and pulled a pillow and extra blanket off the bed for himself to curl up on the floor. As he folded it into something like a futon and lay it out, Makki whispered something. His gaze was flat and hazy as he stared at the ceiling, his eyes rimmed red and bloodshot—Mattsun wondered if he was even blinking.

“What?” he asked, leaning over and touching his knuckles to Makki’s forehead. “Do you need something?”

Makki’s lips didn’t move when he whispered again, “Stars.”

“You can’t see a lot of stars in the city, Makki, I’m sorry.”

Makki arched upwards, rolling to the side and reaching out blindly, pointing towards a pile of DVD boxes that were piled like city blocks. “They’re there. Sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” He slid off the bed and carefully stepped around the piles of cases and boxes. He crouched beside a globe with cutouts of stars, crescent moons, and cartoon depictions of Saturn and fiddled around the base of it until he found a switch that, when pressed, sent streaks of light onto the walls and ceiling. “Oh,” he whispered, looking up at them. He smiled when he glanced back at Makki and said, “That what you wanted?”

Makki nodded, tugging blankets up around him and curling into a ball, staring at the ceiling and the dancing stars painted on it by the light. Mattsun made his way back around to the little mat he'd made for himself and sat against the bed, every limb he had suddenly heavy with exhaustion. Thinking back, he tried to count how many hours of sleep he'd gotten over the last week—and found the number much too small for his liking. If he weren't worried that Makki might get sick overnight, he'd go home right now and sleep, but he felt responsible for him and wanted to make sure he survived his night of drinking with nothing more than a hangover. He sat for a while, eyes closed, listening to the sound of Makki breathing, having to catch himself from falling into sleep every now and then. He didn't know how long he sat there, but at one point he heard a different sound, something his addled brain couldn't quite comprehend, and when he looked over he saw that Makki was crying—silent streams of tears spilling down his cheeks as he lay motionless and curled in on himself, his chest heaving as he sucked in more air.

Mattsun stared at him for a long moment, unsure of what to do, but finally, he sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through Makki's hair. He didn't even move or acknowledge the touch, only stared at the little globe on the floor, and was as still as a statue. "Makki?" Mattsun whispered, leaning over him and touching a thumb to his temple to try and get his attention. He hadn't blinked in so long that Mattsun's own eyes were stinging in sympathy.

"Did you know," Makki said, his voice flat and distant-sounding, less drunk, but Mattsun wasn't sure that was a good thing at this point, considering his state, "that if you're in the dark for so long… your eyes begin to make up things for you to look at."

Mattsun sat still for a moment, unsure what he was meant to say to that.

In the silence, Makki continued in that same voice that made Mattsun think that he wasn’t even aware that he was speaking aloud, “I saw stars, then, too.” He turned his face, pressing it into the pillow for a moment while he keened out a low whine and rolled onto his back, face scrunched in pain.

"Here," Mattsun said gently, pulling the blankets up to his chest and stroking his hair, "try to sleep, okay? You'll feel better in the morning."

Makki was quiet a moment, but eventually, he closed his eyes and threw one arm over his face. "No, I won't." He sounded like he'd swallowed glass, but he said, "You can go. I'm sorry you had to bring me home."

“It’s okay,” Mattsun said automatically, but sincerely. “I don’t mind—”

Makki cut him off and turned onto his other side, away from him. “It’s fine. Thank you…”

"Don't do that," Mattsun whispered, taking his hand and trying to get him to look at him, but Makki pulled his arm away and buried himself in the blankets.

"I'll be okay. You go sleep." His voice was muffled, and Mattsun heard the sound of talking come from under the blanket. After listening to it for a few seconds, he recognized it as an old Disney movie.

Mattsun sighed and stood, stroking the bundle of blankets where Makki’s back was until he shrunk away, then he spread out the blanket from the floor over Makki’s body and trekked across the room. He glanced back at the bed when he’d put on his shoes and asked, “Are you sure?”

Only the subdued sounds of the movie came back to him so Mattsun left the apartment, closing the door softly behind him, and wandered out onto the street, wondering how long it would take him to find a cab.

* * *

At the brownstone, Mattsun stumbled into the foyer and was seriously worried that he wouldn't make it up the stairs. His legs felt like they had thirty-pound weights on them, and his eyes weren't much better. He shuffled through to the stairs, only pausing when he heard voices from the living room, and looked back in time to see Akaashi's head pop up over the back of the couch.

“You’re home,” he said, his cheeks flushed and sounding out of breath.

Mattsun was glad he hadn’t seen the other side of the couch. “Yeah, took longer to get Makki in bed than I thought.”

Akaashi frowned at him, looking him over as if searching for evidence of infidelity. “Did it?”

“Oh, spare me your—”

“Hello!” A blonde head popped up beside Akaashi, smiling, then yelping when Akaashi put a hand on his face and pushed him back to the couch.

“Stop that,” Akaashi snapped at the man that Mattsun recognized from the bar. “I told you to stay quiet.”

Mattsun shook his head, heading up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

“Luke texted me looking for you,” Akaashi said, sounding like an accusation.

“And what did you tell him?”

"That I didn't know where you were, but I wasn't climbing three flights of stairs to look in your room."

Mattsun sighed, grateful that Akaashi was either loyal enough or lazy enough to at least protect him that much. “Okay, I’ll deal with it.”

Akaashi made a little noise in his throat that Mattsun didn’t want to know the cause of, and stomped up the stairs loud enough to drown out any other sounds he could hear before he barricaded himself in his bedroom. Akaashi’s promiscuity was one borne of a broken heart, and while Mattsun didn’t really care who his best friend and roommate slept with, he didn’t want to see it personally.

He stripped down to nothing and crawled into bed, the weight from the past week overwhelming him the moment he pressed his face to his pillow. Before he passed out, he sent two texts, one to Luke: _sorry i forgot to text you, home now, sleeping. call you later;_ and one to Makki: _i hope youre okay. lmk if you need anything and i'll do what i can to help you. make sure you drink plenty of water and get some protein in you tomorrow or you'll feel bad all day._

After ten minutes and neither of them answering him, he turned his phone on silent and set it on the charging dock, then turned over and let the obscurity of sleep take him into a long, dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Eventually, Mattsun resurfaced from the land of the dead. He realized he’d forgotten to turn on the fan in his room, and he’d sweated so much in however long he’d slept that he knew he needed to wash the bed sheets right this instant. Then he cursed himself because Akaashi was worse than useless when it came to dealing with the house, and Mattsun had been too busy to call someone to look at the dryer, so it was still broken. Even worse, he thought that maybe there were still wet clothes in the washer and were probably absolutely ruined with mold by now.

Not a good way to wake up, all in all. He dragged himself out of bed, every muscle aching—how long had he slept? If he was honest, he didn’t want to know, but it was dark outside, so it was either the best half hour of sleep in his life, or it had been fourteen hours or more. He spent so long in the shower that the hot water ran out, but his muscles felt better, and he felt clean for the first time all week. Then he wandered downstairs and made himself strong coffee, heated up a bagel, and stared out the window in the kitchen thinking of absolutely nothing as he smothered it in cream cheese and ate it—and then a second one. They were almost stale, anyway, best to eat them before they grew mold, too.

After he’d put off responsibilities as long as he could, he checked on Akaashi (pressing his ear to his door and hearing nothing, then opening the door a crack and finding his bedroom empty and assumed he was at one of his jobs); went upstairs to poke around and kick at the dryer to see if that would fix it (it didn’t), then broke down and called a repairman, having to leave a message on the machine since they were closed by now. He could tell standing in the tiny laundry room—piles of clothes everywhere, some clean, some dirty, some Mattsun wasn’t even sure belonged to either of them—that clothes were rotting away in the washing machine by the sweet, pungent scent that wafted from it. After spraying it with so much Lysol the air was foggy with it and closing the door to keep it all in, Mattsun stripped his bedsheets and stuffed them in a bag, put on some vaguely clean jeans, and carried them to the laundromat a few blocks over.

Once they were safely sudsing away in a machine, he finally sat down to go through his phone. He’d gotten several messages from Akaashi, each several hours apart: _going to work; brought you some food, it’s in the fridge; picked up an early shift at the bar; are you awake yet?_

He answered it first, telling Akaashi the dryer would hopefully be fixed tomorrow and that they should probably burn the clothes in the washer right now. He laughed when Akaashi shot back — _probably already a baby monster inside it. maybe we should raise it as our own to defend the brownstone._

_— it would turn on us_

_— only you._

_— why me?_

_— cause you’re an ass. and i’d feed it table scraps. it would be loyal to me b/c food_

Mattsun laughed so suddenly the woman folding her whites at the wall opposite him turned to look at him. He ignored her and decided to leave Akaashi to work, and, already dreading it, opened the texts from Luke. There were only two, one from early that morning and one from just an hour ago.

— _took a long time;_ and _— are you home?_

— _not anymore. i’m at laundry washing since our dryers still fucked_

Mattsun saw that Makki hadn’t answered his last text and was immediately worried—then the sense of guilt he felt at being worried made his stomach twist into knots. He spent too long debating before sending, — _u ok?_ and then hating himself for feeling so guilty for doing it. — _want to make sure ur not dead._

However, Makki hadn’t read or answered his text by the time the sheets were clean and dry, and he was on his way back to the brownstone. Maybe he’d ruined that friendship, or maybe Makki was busy, or maybe he was still asleep. Or at a hospital somewhere. Maybe he’d call... or go by later if he never answered. Or was this his cue to let Makki go—to pretend that he didn’t care about him at all and let him slide out of his life?

As he approached the steps to the brownstone, he stopped on the sidewalk and sighed. “Why are you here?”

Luke stood from where he’d perched on the steps, shifting from foot to foot, wary of coming closer. “You said you weren’t home, and I didn’t want to just go in.”

“No. ‘Why are you here’—not ‘why are you on my stoop’.”

Luke inched forward, holding out his arms until Mattsun dropped the bundle of clean clothes and sheets in his arms. “Wanted to see you.”

Mattsun went to the door and unlocked it, holding it open until Luke moved inside. He wanted to tell him to go home, but it was probably better that they talk. No matter the outcome. Really, the worst-case scenario for Luke would be the best case for him so, no matter what, someone would get hurt today. Upstairs, in his bedroom, Luke wordlessly began helping him make the bed like he’d done countless times. It was easy—domestic. Mattsun’s stomach tightened at how comfortable it was.

Luke chuckled in the silence and said, “I can smell the mold from the machine.”

“Shit,” Mattsun muttered. “I must have gone scent-blind, then. Keiji says there’s probably a monster inside it. Says we should raise it as our own.”

“Aww, you guys’d make good daddies.”

Shaking his head to hide his smile, Mattsun haphazardly tossed the last sheet onto his bed—he didn’t usually actually make his bed, not when he was just going to fall into it at the end of the day. He sat on the end of his bed, each breath coming harder and harder as the weight of what he needed to do pushed down on him. “Luke, I want— I need to talk to you about...”

“It’s my fault,” Luke said.

Mattsun frowned at him, unsure at first what he meant. Then he realized—the fight they’d had last week. The one that had prompted him to walk out of Luke’s apartment and go to the club to get drunk. “To be honest with you, I don’t even remember what that was about.”

Luke shrugged. “I think, at first, it was just—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Mattsun said. He extended a hand and pulled Luke closer to him, wrapping his arms around his waist—needing comfort even though he was sure everything was about to be absolutely ruined. He pressed his face into Luke’s stomach, Luke’s arms coming around to hug him.

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered into the long silence that followed, his fingers stroking gently through Mattsun’s hair.

“I know you are.” After a shuddering breath, he added, “I am too. Sorry. For all the hurt we’ve caused each other.”

He felt Luke’s laugh flutter his belly rather than heard it. “We’ve done a lot of good, too. Remember when we went to Luna Park?”

Mattsun smiled, rubbing his cheek over the soft cloth of Luke’s shirt. “And you were scared of the slingshot ride? Yeah. I remember.”

“I wasn’t scared!” Luke protested, his voice most of the way to a laugh. His hands never stopped petting Mattsun’s hair. “We’d just _eaten_! I didn’t want to throw up.”

“Yeah, food was damn expensive, wasn’t it? Didn’t want to waste it.”

“Oh, that’s the reason.” Luke laughed again. “I remember how we stayed on the beach all day, and we both got glorious sunburns.”

Mattsun smiled despite himself, remembering how they’d spent the next few weeks alternately complaining and being scolded by their managers for not taking better care of their bodies. The smile lingered, even though the weight in his heart shifted, sending rocks up into his throat that made breathing difficult. “Luke.”

The hands in his hair stilled. He’d said it like _we need to talk_ and nothing else.

Luke looked down at him, his face still and expression tight.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Mattsun said in a soft, too low voice, the beginning of truth. The pain became white-hot, and he wanted nothing but to keep it inside him—hurting Luke wasn’t a part of his plan, but it was inevitable. “I think—”

“No.” His voice was as taut and thin as a tightrope. “You’re not— No.” He pulled away, his shoulders knotted with tension.

Mattsun looked up at him, his hands flat on his lap, and wondering if he could look both apologetic and stern in the same posture. “I’m sorry, Luke. I’ve _tried_ , and I know you want this to work, but—”

“No!” Luke repeated more firmly, his voice higher in pitch due to stress. “You’re not. Fuck”—he took a breath, sharp inhale, shuddering exhale—“you. Okay? Just fuck you. Fuck this. You’re _not_ doing this to me. You don’t get to make that call on your own!” He was moving erratically, pacing in a tiny line in front of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been thinking about this for a long—”

“Then why didn’t you _say something_?” Luke screamed it this time, so loud it set Mattsun’s teeth on edge.

His voice was as appeasing as he could make it. “Because I knew it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Oh, don’t _even_.” Luke threw one of his arms in a furious arc. “I’m not fucking listening to this.” He strode to the door in two quick steps, turning on his heel to point an enraged finger at Mattsun, who still sat on the bed. “I’m leaving—and you’re going to fucking start _thinking_ about this. And you’re going to—“ He stopped to hit his knuckles into the door frame, not hard, just like he couldn’t keep the anger inside him. “The next time we talk, this conversation is going to go a different way.”

Everything was dark—a hole where pain oozed and guilt devoured. Luke only scowled at him, the line of his mouth twisted into fury and grief. His chest rose one last time, held, and then he was gone, huffing angrily and stomping down the stairs so loudly Mattsun could count them all the way down to the first floor. The slam of the door felt like an exclamation mark.

Mattsun let out all the air in his lungs and flopped back onto his bed. He and Makki had laid here not too long ago. He and Luke had shared this bed for so long he could feel the double indentation of their bodies in the mattress. Thank God he’d washed the sheets—the mix of their scents had plagued his dreams.

He stared at nothing, the memories in his head of the last few years flashed and swirled in vibrant technicolor—each memory worse and better than the last. They all hurt, but they all made him happy, too. The thing was—he had loved Luke. He’d loved him a lot, and well, and for a long time. Somewhere down the line, he’d stopped, but he didn’t know when... or why. There was no going back.

And now he’d have to have that conversation all over again—only next time he’d have to do it better. Luke deserved better.

* * *

They didn’t speak for several days. Mattsun spent a lot of the time asleep, catching up on the hours he’d lost. He didn’t try to contact Luke or Makki, not after the disastrous last time he’d spoken to them both. He was jagged inside, all hollowed out, broken glass after a car crash, just the frame of a bent-in window.

He and Akaashi spent their mutual off day lounging in their living room watching awful daytime television since Akaashi had the remote. Mattsun, for his part, gorged himself on candy, huge bags bought the day after Halloween for a dollar each. His phone sat silent on his bedside table upstairs, ignored all day and night. For dinner, Mattsun convinced the both of them—with some effort—to put on actual clothing that wasn’t pajamas and go a few blocks down to a little Italian place with thin red carpet, faux-Venetian decorations on the walls, and plates big enough for a family to eat. Mattsun knew Akaashi wouldn’t eat a plate on his own, so they shared a large order of spaghetti and then a cannoli each—claimed by online reviews and a handmade sign out front to be the best in the city—drizzled with tiny chocolate chips. They took turns picking them off and eating them, and Mattsun’s heart swelled when Akaashi sucked the creamy ricotta insides and shyly asked Mattsun for another.

At home, they got drunk on Akaashi’s extra strong drinks, curled up on the couch together, and watched old reruns of _I Love Lucy_ until Akaashi fell asleep on Mattsun’s lap. He let Akaashi sleep, brushing his fingers through Akaashi’s hair and listening to the gentle in and out of his breathing. He liked watching Akaashi sleep, liked seeing him eat, liked knowing that he was, at least for the moment, happy. In his sleep, the lines of anxiety in his face were softened, whatever demons he was fighting during wakefulness kept at bay. Eventually, he fell asleep too, cradling Akaashi in his lap, and dreamed of absolutely nothing.

* * *

It was several days until Mattsun realized that both Makki and Luke were actively avoiding him, which made his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw so hard, he was so angry. His work for the day was done—he’d taken off the gratuitous, colorful make-up Leah had dashed over his eyes, and the glitter smeared into his hair. The things he did for money. It had been a long time since he’d hated a shoot he’d had to do—most of them didn’t even phase him anymore—but this one, neon strips of cloth and black lights, glow in the dark paint and makeup, ground his nerves past the point of tolerance and into excruciating.

He waited in one of the upper floors where shoots were done, the flash of camera bulbs was like a strobe, and the smell of the lights more prominent than the sweat of the people. He watched Makki at work, how effortless he looked, the easy way he smiled and laughed when spoken to, and how he avoided Mattsun’s gaze in such a way that meant he knew he was being watched. After he was dismissed, Mattsun managed to catch him before he got on the elevator, his fingers hooking around his elbow. “Makki.”

“What?”

Mattsun frowned. “What do you mean, _what_? I’ve been worried about you.”

“Oh.” Makki was wearing a disastrously salmon-colored Polo shirt and khakis—spring and summer clothes in the middle of winter, the way of the industry, always preparing for the next season. “Well, I’m okay.”

“It’s just—the other night. You seemed pretty messed up.”

Makki’s smile was thin, and he shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. “I don’t drink much. Next time it won’t be so bad.” He paused, then added, “If there is a next time.”

Mattsun laughed a little. “Sure, we get together a lot. Maybe next time Nic won’t be so encouraging. He likes to see how far he can push things and people.”

“I mean,” Makki laughed, too, a real smile flashing through whatever he was fighting inside for a moment, “I encouraged _him,_ so it’s only fair.”

He remembered all too well how close they’d sat in the booth, how they’d exchanged whispers that weren’t whispers, touches that had seemed to promise more. Mattsun wanted so badly to tell Nic to back off, but no—it wouldn’t be right. They both deserved to try to be happy. Maybe they’d make a great couple. Maybe they were just friends. “Alright,” he said, making his face as pleasant as he could. “Well, just answer my texts when I’m trying to see how you’re doing. Okay?”

“Of course,” Makki said, but what he meant was _you really don’t have to check up on me._

Mattsun withered inside—he’d hurt Makki more than either of them cared to admit. Their friendship would forever be tainted before it even began. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “Okay. See you later.”

“See you later.”

They both know it was a fragile something—a lie or a truth, or a little of both. They said they were okay with friendship, but you can’t build things on a lie.

Downstairs, he washed his face clean of the make-up and scrubbed a towel over his hair. One by one, he replaced the piercings he’d had to take out that day for the shoot. With each, it seemed a part of him was being replaced, something that had been missing all morning. That was probably his imagination and a little bit of wishful thinking that he was a little bit cooler than he’d been before he’d gotten them. In reality, they were just an excuse to piss off his mother and brother simultaneously, which gave him joy. One of them he’d done with a paperclip and a can-do attitude when Aito had told him he wasn’t allowed to _go out_ and get another ring in his earlobe. So he hadn’t gone out, he’d stayed right in the living room to do it.

Shrugging into his coat, he made his way downstairs and just as he got to the lobby door he saw Luke coming in. They paused with the glass door between them, the moment hanging by a thin, fraying thread until someone pushed past Mattsun to rush out the door and it snapped in half as the icy winter wind bustled inside with Luke.

“Well?”

Mattsun shook his head. “What makes you think avoiding me will make me change my mind?”

Luke’s face went from angry to incensed, and he snorted derisively as if Mattsun was the one being unreasonable. Then he was gone, storming away and disappearing into the elevator.

“That went well,” Mattsun said to himself. At home, he dumped a gratuitous amount of vinegar into the washing machine to kill the mold and ran the cycle—then dumped them in the finally fixed dryer (it had been a faulty belt—he was furious, he probably could have fixed it himself), and then spent several hours alternatively doing laundry, folding clothes, and cleaning the rooms they’d neglected, which was all of them. By evening he was through with most of the cleaning and covered in sweat and dust, but happy with how clean the brownstone was. He was mopping when Akaashi walked in, and he pointed his mop at him like a sword. “Don’t you fuck up the floors.”

Akaashi laughed, holding up his hands in surrender before bending down and taking off his shoes and socks. “Smells clean.”

“I took out the trash.”

“What a magnificent difference it makes.” Akaashi grinned, carefully walking close to the wall to avoid leaving footprints as he made his way to the stairs. “I’m at the bar tonight again.”

Mattsun leaned on the mop handle and looked up at him. “Want to eat dinner?”

“Can’t—already late,” Akaashi said as he rushed upstairs to change.

Sighing, Mattsun finished mopping, dumped out the dirty water, cleaned the mop head, and replaced all the cleaning equipment in the closet before he flopped himself on the couch, letting out a breath of relief now that he was through. He checked his phone and after fighting with himself for several long minutes, peeling back the edge of the case with his fingernail and letting it click back into place, he finally texted Luke — _can u come tnte so we can talk?_

When, after several minutes of no answer, he got up and went to Akaashi’s bedroom, knocking before opening the door. “Hey, maybe I can make you some—” He stopped when he found Akaashi half-naked, his legs looking pale and sinewy.

He turned and frowned at Mattsun, dropping several pieces of clothing in a huff. “Ok, first, thank you for washing my clothes; second, where are my black pants? The jeans, I need them for the bar.” He was talking fast and digging through piles of clean clothes, clearly distraught.

“Oh, there was still some that didn’t get washed, and a load in the washer and dryer.”

Akaashi looked annoyed, shoving clothes into his dresser drawers with an aggravated frenzy. “Can you check for me?”

Mattsun did, finding them easily. They hadn’t been washed yet, and he felt bad about that since they smelled of old beer. When he picked them up, something in one of the pockets crinkled and he instinctively reached in to pull it out—a small piece of paper with a phone number and the initials: _YT._ Mattsun frowned at it as he descended the stairs to the second floor and handed Akaashi his pants. “Not washed, sorry.”

Akaashi took them and hopped into them, gathering up phone and wallet in a rush. “I’ll do it tomorrow, thanks.” He spun on the spot, glancing around to make sure he didn’t forget anything.

“So,” Mattsun held up the paper, “who’s this?”

Akaashi snapped his head back to him and frowned at it. “Nosy,” he commented, taking the paper from him and replacing it in his pocket.

“Mhm, no. The initial is a T, not an N.”

Akaashi scoffed at him as he pushed him out of his room and closed the door behind them. “It’s none of your business.”

Mattsun followed him down to the first floor so he could continue to agitate him without having to shout up and down the stairs. “Come on, don’t be secretive. Tell me, I’m curious.”

Akaashi, one hand braced on the wall as he pulled his shoes on, chuckled a little. “Fat chance. I’m not telling you so you can try and _intimidate_ him or whatever you’re planning.”

“I would never,” Mattsun intoned in a falsely offended voice, touching a hand to his chest. “I am an angel.”

Snorting, Akaashi turned to the door. “Maybe if you role-play, sure. Otherwise, dubious.” He tossed a laugh over his shoulder at his own joke as he closed the front door behind him.

Mattsun huffed and retreated to the living room where he scooped up his phone and found that Luke had replied to his text:

— _planned on it_

 _— thx 4 informing me of ur travel plans beforehand._ Mattsun knew that sarcasm didn’t read well over text, but he sent it anyway. This talk had to happen; it had to be finalized, underlined, notarized. Ended. It was like a hiking trip—the trip _to_ the top was long and difficult, but once at the top, one could finally rest and enjoy it. The walk down was mostly relief. He pulled one of the lumpy pillows under his head and closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of the floor polish and air freshener and feeling accomplished with what he’d done so far today and hoping that he could carry that feeling into the talk.

He was just considering what he might say, or lead with when suddenly someone touched his face. He jerked awake, unaware that he’d even been asleep, his heart racing a mile a minute and hot-cold fight or flight adrenaline weaving through his body. He launched himself to sitting before realizing that it was only Luke standing over him, looking dubious and concerned.

“Jesus,” Mattsun exhaled, covering his face with his hands as his body went from cold to hot in a second after realizing that he wasn’t in danger. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

Mattsun looked up at him, touching two fingers to his pulse in his throat to make sure it was slowing. “You—wait, how’d you get in?”

Luke’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. He was still standing over Mattsun, and for a moment, Mattsun wondered if he was trying to consciously or subconsciously assert some sort of power of him. Whatever, it didn’t work. “I walked in.”

“You shouldn’t just walk into people’s homes.”

Luke rolled his eyes, finally sitting on the edge of the couch next to him. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”

“Clearly, because I was asleep.”

“Clearly.”

Mattsun sighed, rubbing his face for a moment. “God, Luke. What—“ He stopped and breathed for a moment before looking up to see him watching Mattsun. He looked pensive and angry, impatient. “Okay, so are you going to sit down and talk to me now?”

“That depends,” Luke said, his voice tight, “are you going to change your mind?”

Mattsun reached for his hand, taking it even though Luke’s fingers were limp in his. “No.” Luke began to pull his hand away. Mattsun gripped his hand tighter. “Stop it. Don’t walk away again.” He squeezed Luke’s fingers. “ _Please_.”

Luke scowled down at him before slowly lowering himself beside him.

“I know what you want,” Mattsun said gently, “but I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy!” Luke protested, squeezing Mattsun’s hand so hard it hurt.

“Maybe you are,” Mattsun shrugged, “but I’m not.”

“How can I—“

“You can’t.” He ran a thumb over Luke’s knuckles, trying to soothe the tension in his body with just a finger. “I don’t know when, or why, but somewhere along the way...” He stopped himself, because saying _I stopped loving you_ seemed excessively cruel. Instead, he said, “I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone who loves you the way you _deserve_ because I just can’t give that to you anymore.”

Luke was staring at him, pain evident in each of his features. “That’s not fair.”

Mattsun looked away, his throat tight. Even though he was ready for this talk, even though he’d prepared, it still wasn’t easy. “I know it’s not, but it’s the truth.”

“The truth is”—Luke said through a tight jaw—“I _love_ you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to be with you.”

“I don’t want you to change who you are, Luke.”

He leaned forward, tugging Mattsun’s hand into his lap. “I can, though.”

“No, that’s not what—“

“You can’t.” Luke huffed, sounding petulant. “It’s almost _Christmas_.”

Mattsun shook his head sadly. “I know. It’s always almost something.”

Luke inched away, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small blue box. He pressed it into Mattsun’s unwilling hand. “This was my gift for you.”

“No,” Mattsun said, trying to give it back, a cold fist curling around his stomach. “I don’t— This isn’t a good—“

“It is what it is.” Luke took the box back and ripped the soft blue wrapping off in a brisk, aggravated fashion. He flipped the top open and shoved it back. “We can fix this.”

Inside the box sat a silver ring. Mattsun had no doubt that it would fit him. He shook his head, not taking it. “No, Luke. That’s not going to—"

“I’ve wanted to marry you for months! Just because you won’t consider it—“

It was Mattsun’s turn to stand now, pulling away, trying to get distance between them. “I won’t consider it because it’ll just make everything worse.”

“It could _help._ ”

“It’ll just make everything more complicated.” He turned away, walking to the window and stroking a leaf on the little potted plant on the sill. _This poor plant_ , Mattsun thought, _forced to suffer under our roof_. They weren’t good at watering it, and it was forever in a state of either dying or recovering. That’s what he felt this relationship was. Always dying or just barely recovering. “So, no. No. I’m not doing this. You’re not. We’re not.” He turned to look at Luke again. “I’m sorry, I really am. I know you want this—us—to work, but it’s not. It won’t. I want you—“ He moved back, but froze halfway to the couch, his stomach twisted in a knot so tight he thought everything inside him was just going to come right out of his mouth with his next breath. “I want you to go, and I want you to find someone to love you the way I can’t.”

Luke sat very still. In a soft voice, he asked, “Am I not good enough for you?”

“What? No! That’s not...” He shook his head, pressing his hand to his eyes. “It’s not you. It’s me. It’s not anyone’s _fault_. It’s just the way it is and just how things are. We didn’t work. We tried—we really did. For a long time. But it’s not— It isn’t working.” He dropped his hands to his sides, spreading them in a gesture of surrender and defeat. “Nothing else to do.”

For a long time, all they did was stare at each other, as if they were each remembering every moment of their relationship. Luke’s overzealous yet passionate flirting when they’d first met, their first kiss—tucked in the corner of a movie theater, silently agreeing that _right now_ is the perfect time to kiss; the first time Mattsun had brought up his sexual preferences, the things he liked, the things he wanted to do, and Luke had said _oh thank God, me too_ ; their first fight, when Luke thought that he was being put on the back burner and he was unhappy about it; the good times, the holidays, the inside jokes, shared secrets and everything that had been _good_ between them. Piece by piece, it fell away.

Standing, his hands balled into fists and pressed against his legs, Luke said, “That’s it, then?”

All Mattsun could do was shrug. “That’s it.”

The muscle in Luke’s jaw twitched as he looked away. He didn’t move for a long moment, and then he started toward the door.

“Luke,” Mattsun said, moving to the couch and picking up the little box, holding it out. _Don’t forget this._

Luke scowled at him, face scrunched, eyes shining. “Keep it,” he spat. “I got it for you. Maybe it’ll remind you that other people have feelings, too.” Then Mattsun watched as he stomped out the door, slamming it so hard the windows shook. Mattsun let out a shaking breath, curling his arms around the back of his neck and pressing his ears until all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat.

He paused to look at the little ring, still gleaming fresh and new. Mattsun groaned to himself, dropping and picking it up again. He ran his finger along the smooth surface. Something caught his eye, and he turned it toward the light so the engraving on the inside:

_together, we can do anything_

It was something they had said to each other in the beginning, back when everything was a possibility, and those possibilities were endless and infinite. He swallowed the rapidly forming lump in his throat and just to check, just to see, slid the ring on his finger. It didn’t fit. It was too big. Somehow, the fact that it didn’t fit made him feel better, as if it was the final piece of the puzzle. He tried it on each of his fingers until it settled between the knuckles of his thumb like it belonged there. He closed his hand around it and lay back on the couch and brought his hand to his face—the cold of the ring touching his skin a reminder of how much he’d done, how much he’d hurt, how much he’d lost.

It wasn’t a good feeling, but Mattsun knew he needed to hold onto it, deep in his heart. If he never forgot, maybe he could save someone else the pain later on. Probably not.

But maybe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEX IN THIS CHAPTER, Y'ALL, _FINALLY_

All in all, the breakup didn’t change much for Mattsun other than the awful weight slowly dissolving around his heart, and the fact that they seem to have divided up their friends and their time. Sometimes, Mattsun would go out with them, as usual, and they would go to dinner or go to a bar or the local pool or gym, the same things they always did together, just without Luke. Mattsun was aware that they were also spending time with Luke apart from him (except Akaashi, who had quietly and wholly removed himself from Luke’s company), which was perfectly fine, they were friends too. He didn’t even care if they talked about him or the time they spent together.

The only time there was ever any tension over their breakup amongst their friend group was when Nic, brandishing a breadstick, had said, “Come on, man, this is just another fight, isn’t it?”

Mattsun didn’t know what to say and felt a little sick over it, but Akaashi had raised his chin to a lofty, dangerous tilt, eyes cooly narrowed, and said, “Do not bring that up ever again.”

No one had. The weeks went by slowly, laboriously, alternately freezing with December snowstorms and boiling hot under flashing bulbs in spring pastels and—on Mattsun’s part, at least—half-naked doing shoots for high-end underwear companies. He and Luke avoided each other coldly, Luke because he was furious, Mattsun because he didn’t want to see how much he was hurting. Conversely, he was spending more time with Makki than he’d planned because they were working on a lot of projects together. Makki was warm and polite, telling him he hoped they would become very close, while Mattsun forced himself to be warm—and distantly—polite. He didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, especially when his own brain wanted to make the wrong ideas happen.

There was a weekend where he was off and didn’t speak to a single person for two whole days until halfway through Sunday afternoon he wandered to a local tattoo shop and got a second bar pierced into his left eyebrow and two more studs into his right earlobe. For a passing moment he thought about getting something _else_ pierced, but then decided it was too expensive and complicated.

The week of Christmas there was a party at the agency for all employees. It wasn’t an obligation to attend, even though it was expected, and Mattsun spent it curled up in bed eating a _lot_ of expensive chocolates and candies he’d bought at the Christmas Village.

He was watching the old animated _Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ on television—Mattsun wondering how the fuck Cindy Lou Who spoke so eloquently, no two-year-old he knew spoke so well—when his phone informed him he had a text. He hadn’t realized he’d left his phone on, so it was a shock. To his despair and delight, it was Makki who’d texted him.

— _where r u?_

He replied— _i don’t_ do _xmas parties_

_— loser._ And then immediately afterward another— _come_ _meet me downstairs_

_— why?_

_— cause i got u a gift, asshole. come get it_

Mattsun blinked at his phone, stuffed a last chocolate caramel turtle in his mouth, and got up to get dressed. He was already pulling on his jacket and digging out his thick winter scarf when he realized he hadn’t even considered _not_ going. He nearly busted his ass several times on the ice-covered sidewalks, the snow having been packed down for days and days, but eventually, he made it to the agency building—the upper floors alight with activity, while the lowest floors hummed in darkness. He stepped into the silent lobby, every sound amplified by the absence of light. He’d never been here at night and he wasn’t sure how he felt about his steps echoing off the high ceiling and tile floor or the way the place smelled like it was just waiting to jump out and attack him. He hummed the Grinch song as he sat in one of the lobby chairs by the window and texted Makki that he was there, but that he didn’t want to come upstairs.

A few minutes later Makki came bouncing down into the lobby, and something in the room brightened as if he himself were a light. He was dressed in a soft green vest and a tiny little red bowtie that made him look like a present. Mattsun had the sudden urge to unwrap him like one, possibly with teeth.

“Hey!” Makki said, sauntering over. His smile warmed up all the cold places inside Mattsun’s chest. “Can’t believe you didn’t come.”

Mattsun shrugged in his overcoat. “I’m sorry. I don’t do well at these sorts of parties.”

“Only the kinky ones?” Makki laughed a soft little laugh. Then he waved away his own joke since neither of them thought it was a very good one. “Here, for you.” He held out a slim box wrapped in silver wrapping paper.

Mattsun could only stare at it, his fingers a little clammy with sudden and unexpected nerves. “But I—” he stammered, “I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Makki thrust the package at him. “Please take it.”

Mattsun didn’t see any other thing to do but take it. So he did, and flipped the package over, frowning at it. “I feel bad taking this…”

Makki moved closer, nudging him with his hip and dropping into a seat. “Don’t! Seriously, it was just something I wanted to do.” He patted the space beside him until, with a breathless laugh, he tugged Mattsun down by the sleeve to sit beside him. Mattsun wondered if it was the holiday season getting to him, or if he’d been partaking of the company alcohol during the party. “Open it,” Makki said again, nudging him with an elbow as he leaned back, grinning.

Mattsun peeled back the edge of the tape that held one side down and pulled the paper back to reveal what was inside. “ _It’s a Wonderful Life_?”

Makki smiled at him, scooting a little closer and taking the paper from his hands. He began folding it into a neat little square. “It’s one of my favorite movies.”

“You have a lot of favorites, don’t you?”

“More than most people, probably,” Makki said, laughing. “Have you seen it?”

Mattsun allowed himself to shift towards him, the conversation and the darkness of the lobby making him pitch his voice a bit softer. “Not this one, no.”

Makki’s shoulder pressed against his own. “Really? It’s a Christmas classic.”

He wanted to say _I’ll watch it sometime,_ but instead what came out was: “Why don’t you come over and we’ll watch it together?”

“Sure,” Makki replied easily. “Anytime. You sure you won’t come up?”

“I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself.” Makki stood, tugging his shirt and vest straight. He looked dapper and charming, and Mattsun liked the way he sang a Christmas carol and bobbed in a little dance on his way back to the elevator.

Mattsun ran a finger along the edge of the DVD, pleased that Makki had thought of him and ashamed that he’d been too wrapped up in himself to get a gift for him. Before Makki could get on the elevator Mattsun rushed to him, having to catch the hem of his vest. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing yet,” Makki said, turning back to him and letting the elevator doors slide closed behind him. He had to push forward to not get crushed and Mattsun hadn’t had the forethought to move, so they were almost chest to chest, a single pillar in the vast, shadowed space of the lobby.

“Come out with me,” Mattsun said in a whisper—unsure why he was whispering but feeling like he couldn’t do anything else. “Let me get you a gift. Anything you want.”

One of Makki’s thin, delicate eyebrows rose in a question. “Anything?” His matching whisper was tantalizing.

“Anything,” Mattsun echoed. His mouth was suddenly dry in a way that he was hyper-aware of. “Want to...” But he didn’t know where he was going to end that sentence before he began it, so trailed off in confusion, knowing he sounded a little desperate and not caring. Probably, it had been _come home and watch it with me now._

Makki smiled at him, reaching a hand and pressing his knuckles to Mattsun’s chest. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” His voice barely worked.

Then Makki was gone, inside the elevator and whisked upwards. Mattsun flipped the movie over and over in his hands, wondering why Makki chose this particular movie to gift him. He was instantly curious and wanted to watch it before Makki came over so that he could pay attention to _Makki_ paying attention to the film. As he was leaving, hand on the door, Akaashi texted him.

— _have u left???_

_— no_

_— wait for me!1!_

Mattsun sighed and pulled the door closed against the chill outside and waited, tucking the movie into the large pocket of his overcoat before sliding it off. When Akaashi came hurrying out of the elevator Mattsun wordlessly handed him his overcoat and allowed him time to shrug into it before they both ventured into the night.

Akaashi plastered himself to Mattsun’s side and Mattsun slung an arm around him as Akaashi said, “God, it’s always so _cold._ ”

Which is why Mattsun had given him his coat. No matter how many coats Akaashi had, he always complained of being cold. “You are a summer creature.”

Akaashi tucked his hands—already in warm-looking mittens—into his armpits and shuddered. “Be glad you didn’t come to this one.”

“I don’t go to any of them.”

“This one especially,” Akaashi said sincerely. “Luke was there and he was telling everyone how he’s _moving on_ and _closing this chapter_ of his life. Guess where he’s going.” He didn’t really want Mattsun to guess, but he turned his face up anyway. Since Mattsun knew he wasn’t supposed to guess, he didn’t, and after a few paces Akaashi said, “L.A. He says he got accepted to be on _Model_.”

He meant _America’s Next Top Model_ , a reality-television competition show that they used to watch sometimes (more often than not mocking the antics of the models and dismaying that they themselves would probably never get that type of publicity).

“No shit?”

“Mhm,” Akaashi agreed, breathless, his chest shivering with cold.

Mattsun tucked him under his arm a little better, trying to keep him warm. “Well, good for him, I guess. Hope he has fun.”

“Hope he embarrasses himself,” Akaashi translated.

Mattsun insisted, “No, I don’t hope that. I just hope he manages to… keep his temper in check.”

Akaashi only _hmm-_ ed. “So what did Makki get you?” He held up his hands and his mittens and exclaimed, “He got me these!”

Mattsun took one of Akaashi’s hands to feel the soft wool, running his thumb over the cuff. “They look warm. He got me a movie. It’s in—yeah.”

He watched as Akaashi pulled the movie out and smiled at it, pleased. “Oh, it’s been forever since I’ve seen this.” His smile, too, was as bright as a light. Mattsun thought that they both had been drinking, but he was pleased to see them both so bouncing and ebullient with their good moods. “Do you want to watch it when we get home?”

“No,” Mattsun said, too quickly. He’d hurt Akaashi’s feelings and plowed ahead quickly, “Not yet. Makki and I were going to watch it. I’ve never seen it.”

“Oh.” He said it like he knew something Mattsun didn’t, which bothered him. “When?”

“Not sure.” He was quiet while they waited for a crosswalk, tugging the ring under his tongue in contemplation. “So, he got everyone gifts?”

“All of us in our group, yeah.” They hurried across the street, his breath fogging the space in front of him with his sigh. “I feel bad cause no one got him anything. None of us ever get each other anything, but no one told him that. And our potluck didn’t happen this year, so no one _thought_ to tell him.”

“Well, I told him I’d take him out tomorrow to get him something.”

“Did you?” Akaashi grinned at him. “You guys are close, then?”

Mattsun shrugged a little half-heartedly. “I don’t know. Not really.” He paused without saying _I want to be_ even though it was obvious.

* * *

Makki shivered as he walked, pressing the cup of hot chocolate to his lips and breathing out so the steam rushed up over his face, warm and cinnamon scented. He skirted around a group of carolers and hummed into his drink as he passed. He liked singing, and he really liked a lot of the Christmas carols even though most of them were religious. That didn’t bother him, but things like church hymns and carols all seemed to be something that _anyone_ could sing, no matter if they should be singing or not. So, even though capital-G-God was a concept that he was all together unsure that he believed in, he still sang the songs and joined in with the Christmas carolers whenever he felt like singing.

Plus, most of the upbeat carols put him in a giddy, happy mood.

He checked his phone, double-checking the address that Mattsun had told him to meet him at, and sat on one of the little benches to wait for him. He smiled to himself, pressing the cup to his lips again to push away the cold. He’d texted Mattsun that morning when he’d woken up, and Mattsun had waited _exactly_ three minutes to reply, so Makki had the impression that he’d been waiting on his text.

“You’re early.”

He looked up to find Mattsun standing next to him in a big black overcoat covered in buttons and buckles and with a long, thick collar that he had turned up against the wind to protect the exposed back of his neck. The silver bars and hoops he’d pierced through bits of cartilage glittered in the light of the noon-day sun.

“So are you,” Makki said with a smile. He held up his cocoa. “Want some?”

Mattsun took it in one hand and brought it to his mouth, pausing to frown at it. “Thought this was coffee.”

“Nope, cocoa.”

Mattsun took a drink and handed it back. “Where’d you get that? It’s delicious.”

Makki pointed back the way he’d come as he took the cup back. He touched his lips to it, heart skittering as he realized the last thing that had touched where his lips now touched was Mattsun’s lips. _Indirect kiss_. He’d longed to kiss him again ever since that afternoon in Mattsun’s bedroom. He wanted it so much he ached. His mouth tingled where it touched the cup as he said, “Café near my apartment. Now, where are we going? You’ve called me out of my warm bed and into the cold, cold world.”

Mattsun smiled at him and pulled him to his feet. “I don’t know, anywhere you want. We’re in a nice part of the city—walking distance to a lot of shops. I told you I’d get you any gift you wanted.”

“Within reason?”

“Let’s throw reason out the window today, Makki.” He slipped a hand around his elbow, guiding him around the carolers once again and towards the crosswalk.

They wandered over towards the busier parts of the streets, the sidewalks packed full of last-minute shoppers. First, they peeked through several clothing shops, Makki searching through scarves and jackets and hats and shoes. Anytime he found something he liked and Mattsun asked, “That one?” Makki would answer, “No, it needs to be special,” and put back whatever he was looking at and moved on to continue his search.

At one particular shop, Makki fingered the soft cuffs on a set of fluffy pajamas with little owls on them. “Akaashi would like these.”

Behind him, poking through a different pile of folded pajamas, Mattsun asked, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Makki turned back to him. “He likes owls.” When Mattsun looked stunned he said, “Oh my God, you didn’t know?”

“Never asked.”

He pointed to them and said, “Buy them for him.”

Mattsun protested, “I’ve already got him a gift.”

“But you said reason was going out the window.” Makki smiled at him, tugging on the sleeve of Mattsun’s jacket and smiled, leaning close, tilting his head so that Mattsun’s eyes followed the curve of his jaw down to his throat.

Mattsun bought the pajamas. He also bought two matching sets—one with tiny dogs, one with polar bears—for the two of them. When they got hungry, they had lunch in a small all-day breakfast place where Makki discovered eggs Benedict latkes and drank four tiny cups filled with espresso. They peeked in a tiny antique shop where Makki gleefully dug through boxes of old coins and postcards filled with beautiful old cursive. He found an old manual typewriter that he typed out a message on the paper still tucked inside it: _what good amid these, o me, o life? answer: that you are here, that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse._

“What’s that?” Mattsun said, looking over his shoulder.

“Have you never seen _Dead Poet’s Society_? It made the poem by Whitman famous.” When Mattsun shook his head Makki stared at him. “What—where you born under a rock?”

Mattsun shrugged. “South Carolina, ditsy little town, same thing as a rock.”

“You didn’t have _DVD’s_ in South Carolina?”

“Not in my house. In my house, we had football, American Idol, and The Bachelor.”

Makki made a face at him as he moved to examine a case of antique jewelry. “Sounds awful.”

“It has made me hate all those things.” He was looking at something across the shop, a smile tugging at his lips. He looked young in that moment, reaching over to take Makki’s hand and pull him through the twisting, winding aisles of the shop. “Hey, Makki, look.” He was pointing with his free hand, and when Makki looked up he gasped a little at the object he was pointing at.

It was a flamingo.

Except, it was more than a flamingo. It was a _neon_ flamingo, lit up in hot pink and yellow with green _sunglasses_. It was tacky. It was bright. It was ugly, and Makki was instantaneously enamored with it. He gasped and reached up to flip over the price tag, seeing that it was reasonable. It hummed with argon and mercury, the sound vibrating in Makki’s teeth. “This?” he asked, his excitement bubbling up in his voice.

Mattsun’s laughed, the pink of the flamingo neon sign seeming to glow off his skin and reflect tiny versions of it in each of his silver piercings. “Of course, Makki. I told you anything you want.” He eyed the sign. “Where will you put it?”

“On my _wall_ , where else?”

“Ah, of course.” Mattsun plucked the price tag off the sign and waved it. “This is what you want?”

Makki beamed, his heart fluttering. “Yes!”

Afterward, they walked down the shop carrying a large box with the flamingo safely inside it. Mattsun tucked it under his arm and Makki watched for people so they didn’t smack anyone with it. He wanted to ask when he could take it home and hang it up, but that felt a bit ungrateful. Inside he was vibrating with sheer joy, bouncing with it as they walked.

“So,” Mattsun said half-way down the block, “why haven’t you gone home for Christmas yet? It’s in, like, two days.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I went for Thanksgiving,” Mattsun told him. “I’m all family-ed out for the holidays. Don’t dodge my question.”

Makki puffed out his cheeks in frustration, kicking a little patch of snow into the street. “No, I’m not going home. My sister’s skipping this year, too. Mom’s upset about that but I can’t deal with her without Nora as a buffer. So I’m going to spend Christmas at home watching all my favorite Christmas movies with hot chocolate, actual chocolate, and probably too much Chinese food.”

Mattsun stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and scowled at him, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp, “You’re going to be alone on Christmas?”

He laughed a little, shrugging, trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing. “No, I’ll have Ralphie, and Charlie Brown, and Clark Griswold, and anyone else I can find. I’ll have a lot of friends.”

“That’s—” Mattsun stopped, his mouth pursing in aggravation. “No.”

They were jostled aside as the crowd surged and they had to shuffle towards the edge of the closest shop to get out of the way. “Beg pardon?”

Mattsun frowned at him, the line between his eyebrows pinched with consternation. “No, you’re not going to be alone on Christmas.” He hefted the box under his arm and frowned at it as if it was the reason for his annoyance. “I’m going to wrap this up and you’re going to come to the brownstone with me and Keiji.”

Makki blinked at him, his own smile creeping onto his face, the infatuation he’d been unable to push down making his belly warm and his heart hop sideways in his chest. Spending the whole day with Mattsun? How could he ever turn that down?

* * *

Christmas morning bloomed bright and crisp, a fresh layer of snow on the ground. Mattsun crouched in front of the fireplace that they _never_ used—and in fact, it was usually buried behind a pile of books and boxes—and tried to start a nice, crackling fire for the day. He stuffed newspapers under wood he’d bought yesterday and breathed onto the tiny flame until it caught and rolled over the logs.

Then he hastily slapped the damper open to let the fingers of smoke out.

“Keiji!” he yelled, poking the wood into a more pleasing shape without knowing if it would help the fire burn longer. When he was a kid his father had been the one to build all the fires and Mattsun had never really paid attention to the process, which he regretted now. “Keiji! Get your ass down here.”

“Don’t yell at me,” Akaashi said from the stairs as he shuffled down. He plopped himself on the couch and curled up, yawning. “I’m here. Annie’s not.”

Mattsun turned to frown at him. “Where’d you put her?”

Akaashi’s smile vanished in one side of his cheek that was squished into the arm of the couch. “Isn’t that the game?”

He scoffed, poking the fire one last time as if he knew what he was doing before standing and wiping his hands on his pants. The smell of hickory smoke floated from the fireplace as he turned to glance out the window, wondering when Makki would be there. They’d already been texting all morning and Mattsun knew he should be on his way by now, but the Christmas schedules of the subways and busses might mess with how long it would take him to get here.

“I swear to God,” Mattsun said, “if that little bitch is in my bed again I might stab you.”

Akaashi’s wicked grin didn’t match his childlike fit of giggles. “God, that was so funny.”

“It was _horrifying_ and I’m still mad.” When they’d moved in there had been a little doll leftover from whoever had owned the place before them. They’d hated it upon first seeing it—it was one of those old-fashioned dolls made of cloth with a patched blue dress and drawn on eyes and a too-wide smile. Mattsun said that it was probably Satan that had left it, and Akaashi had thought it looked like the sister or the cousin to the supposedly cursed Annabell doll—not the movie version, but the even creepier _happy_ looking one—so they’d promptly tossed it in the trash.

The next morning it had been sitting on their kitchen table. Neither of them would own up to taking it out, and they both blamed the other but had not attempted to throw it away again. They’d named her Annie and sat her in the upstairs storage room, then promptly forgotten about her until they were searching for Christmas decorations. Then they’d made a game of hiding her around the brownstone, with the other person having to search for and re-hide her throughout the day and the person who didn’t manage to find her before dinner time had to pay for dinner.

Last year Akaashi had won by hiding her under Mattsun’s pillow—causing him to fall out of bed and consequently scare the shit out of Luke when he’d screamed in the middle of the night upon finding the doll’s eyes on his. Akaashi had laughed so hard and so loud that they could hear it from the upstairs bedroom and Mattsun had stomped downstairs and attempted to stuff the doll in Akaashi’s mouth to shut him up.

Mattsun scowled at Akaashi—still giggling on the couch—and stomped upstairs in a huff to make sure she _wasn’t_ in his bed. She wasn’t, nor was she anywhere in his bedroom, and he was just finishing searching in the drawers of his dresser when Akaashi called up, “Makki’s here!”

_Finally_. His chest tightened a little—nerves? excitement? both?—and he took one last look around his bedroom before launching himself down the stairs to open the door because Akaashi wouldn’t get up from the couch to do it. When he opened the door he found Makki holding Annie (he was saying, “This was on the porch?”) and shouted in wordless aggravation, snatching her from him and stomping inside to thrust the doll at Akaashi. “You can’t put her outside!”

Akaashi grinned at him over the steaming cup of tea he’d made while Mattsun was upstairs. “We never said that.”

“Unspoken rule,” Mattsun countered. “She’s all wet now.”

Behind him, Makki murmured, “You’re not used to saying that about women, are you?”

Mattsun scoffed at him, then ushered him inside the brownstone and out of the cold while Akaashi, who had heard him, cackled maniacally.

“What the hell is that?” Makki asked, pointing at the doll as he kicked his shoes off in the entryway and shook snow from his hair.

Mattsun explained about the doll—not about finding her in his bed—while shaking drops of snow and water from her curly red hair. “God, she’s gonna have to dry out or she’ll mold.” He led Makki into the living room and set her up beside the fire, far enough away that none of the cinders or ashes would get on her and set _her_ aflame.

“Want one?” Makki asked, holding out a bag he’d brought with him, plucking out a rainbow-colored candy cane and holding it out to Akaashi.

Mattsun was surprised when Akaashi took it and immediately unwrapped it. “What flavor is it?”

“I think they’re like jelly beans or something?” Makki answered, opening his bag and digging around. “I don’t know. I’ve also got—uh—fudge, and some caramel, and toffee cookies, some chocolate covered things, and some of those peanut butter ball things, some other stuff, too.”

Mattsun came to peer into the bag and saw a plethora of wrappers and containers. “Damn,” he said, half in awe.

“I found a candy store and I got excited,” Makki explained, handing him one of the candy canes. The flavor seemed to be _blue raspberry_ or something, which Mattsun was happy about. “Oh, and I brought some movies too—”

“—Of course you did,” Akaashi said without malice.

“Just in case! You never know.” He pulled out a thick black sleeve of DVD’s and the other two laughed.

Akaashi peeled himself off the couch and took it from him, sticking the candy cane into the side of his mouth and talking around it, “I’ll put one on. Are all of them Christmas themed? Yes? Great.”

While he did that Mattsun watched Makki taking in their measly decorations, which consisted wholly of a tiny glass Christmas tree on the coffee table surrounded by badly wrapped gifts.

“You two go all out, don’t you?”

Mattsun moved to stand beside him, he couldn’t help but notice how he smelled like the hot chocolate he’d shared yesterday—cinnamon and nutmeg, warm and alluring. “You should see how we decorate for”—he fumbled for a different holiday and ended lamely with: “Arbor day.”

Both Makki and Akaashi stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Arbor day?” Akaashi echoed, then snorted a laugh. “You’re so…” but he just shook his head.

He could feel the heat in his cheeks and, flustered, said, “Shut up, I— Look, never mind. Are you going to pick a movie or not?” He began to pick through the gifts on the table, separating them into piles. They didn’t get each other much, but he was happy to see that Akaashi had gone out and gotten a gift for Makki too, so they all had something that would be a surprise.

Makki sat on the edge of the couch and began digging out and putting the treats he’d brought on the already laden coffee table, placing them between gifts and around the tree like tiny offerings. He held out a little tin box with parchment paper sticking out the sides and said, “Chocolate orange?”

Mattsun reached to take it, their fingers brushing— _lightning spark of desire_ —and tried to keep his face neutral as they did. “Thank you,” he said softly, meaning more than the oranges.

The television flickered to life as Akaashi slid a DVD into it. He was about to sit down again when Mattsun pushed one of the lumpy packages at him. “Wait, you have to open this before we do anything else. You too, Makki.”

Makki sat slowly peeling at the tape, waiting for Akaashi to open his since he knew what was inside, and when Akaashi pulled the owl pajamas out he gasped with delight and pressed the soft fabric to his cheek. “Oh! I love owls!”

“I know,” Mattsun said with a smile, glancing over at Makki, having to swallow a gasp when he realized that Makki was already watching him. “Put them on. Both of you. We have to wear pajamas on Christmas.”

Akaashi said, “I’m already in my—”

“We have to match,” Mattsun told him, peeling away the awful wrapping he’d done on his own pajamas and showing the little polar bears on them, then pointed to Makki showing the ones with dogs on them that he held.

“You wrapped your own Christmas gift?”

“Matchy-matchy, Keiji.”

Beaming, Akaashi bounded up the stairs to his bedroom to change, and Mattsun felt like a proud parent watching him go. He thought that he loved Akaashi more than he loved his own flesh and blood brother, most days, and every time he smiled or laughed Mattsun felt that bond seal itself more firmly inside his heart. “I’ll go change upstairs, too, if you don’t mind.” He grabbed up the doll and said, “Need to hide this. There’s a bathroom on the second floor or—y’know, anywhere. Don’t be shy.” He waved a hand at the general apartment and then went upstairs before he could invite Makki up to his bedroom again.

He changed quickly—absolutely not imagining Makki doing the same down below—buttoning the front of the shirt as he wandered the third floor searching for a good place to hide Annie that Akaashi wouldn’t find immediately. He decided on the dryer simply because she still felt damp and Akaashi probably wouldn’t think of looking there since he never did laundry, anyway. Back downstairs he found Makki sitting next to the fire and watching _Christmas Vacation_ as he sucked chocolate from his fingers ( _don’t think about it, stop it, pervert,_ he scolded himself).

“Hey,” he greeted lamely, which made Makki laugh.

“Your— Wait.” Makki stood, coming closer and reaching for Mattsun’s shirt. He began to pull the buttons apart and Mattsun’s mind immediately went to naughty places, but Makki said, “Your buttons are all wrong.” He fixed them and only met Mattsun’s eye once they were correct, one finger sliding in between the spaces they made and brushing the skin of Mattsun’s stomach. The moment pulsed, charged and heavy—like the air before a lightning storm—and Mattsun felt his lips part as he attempted to come up with something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like the debauched man he really was.

Then Makki was stepping back, glancing at the stairs as Akaashi descended, and they all stood a moment as Akaashi looked like he would explode with happiness, arms spread to show off his pajamas. His eyes found the empty space by the fireplace and he grinned, glancing around the living room as if Mattsun would be that _easy_ with his hiding place. They spent a leisurely time trading gifts with one another—the expensive bottles of liquor that Mattsun and Akaashi had bought each other were opened and sampled. Makki shrieked with glee when he discovered that Akaashi had found him a DVD of CLUE—a favorite that they all shared—that had been autographed by director and the main cast. He hugged Akaashi so hard Mattsun thought he might have to go find a pry bar to separate them. Akaashi was pleased as punch when he opened Mattsun’s other gift to him and found a new novel by an author he liked that he hadn’t known was released yet. Mattsun ran his fingers over the brand new designer jacket that Akaashi had given him and almost wanted to suggest that he go get dinner, screw the doll-hiding game, just so he could try it on.

“Wait, so,” Akaashi pointed to the large box leaning against the wall, “what’s that?”

Mattsun took a sip of the warmed (definitely not spiked with rum) apple cider they’d made and motioned to Makki. “Go on.”

With an excited shout, Makki launched himself across the room and began peeling away the glittering penguin wrapping paper Mattsun had wrapped it in. When he managed to get the box open and pull the bundle of tubes out Akaashi laughed and asked, “Why does it have _glasses_?”

“They’re sunglasses,” Mattsun corrected.

“Okay but _why_?”

Makki was carrying it around the living room, peering behind the couch and bookshelves looking for an outlet. He found one right beside the window and, because it was a sign, set the flamingo in the window and turned it on. The smile he turned on Mattsun as the soft pink glow lit up the living room was filled with child-like glee—rapturous wonder.

Inside him was a riot of emotions that mirrored the look on Makki’s face and he said, “You’re still happy with it, then?”

Makki turned back to the flamingo and reached a finger out to touch it before it got hot, tracing the ridiculous green frames of the glasses. His voice was an enthusiastic whisper, “I love it. Thank you.”

He saw Akaashi watching him out of the corner of his eye, but Mattsun couldn’t be bothered to hide his own smile in the face of Makki’s happiness. He could easily imagine moving over to him and cupping his fingers around Makki’s chin to pull his face up and kiss him. He knew he’d taste like the apple cider and the smile on his lips would make Mattsun smile, too. Maybe they’d laugh instead of kiss, sharing breaths, Mattsun cradling Makki’s face in his hands to keep him close.

Suddenly he stood, overwhelmed with the need to do it, to kiss him _right now_. He saw Akaashi hide his smile behind his hand and realized that Akaashi knew what he was thinking—just how transparent was his face just then?—and said instead, “Be right back,” before rushing upstairs so he didn’t act on his desires. Would it be appropriate, especially so soon after Luke? Especially considering they’d all been friends? Probably not.

Definitely not.

But he still wanted to do it.

In order to distract himself, he searched the upstairs floors for Annie and found her hiding underneath the big ottoman in the reading room across from Akaashi’s room. He thought about putting her in Akaashi’s bed for revenge but figured Akaashi would think of that too and find her.

Throughout the day they watched the movies that Makki had brought (well, some of them, he’d brought a lot) and snacked on the candy and chocolate, made more apple cider, and every now and then Akaashi or Mattsun would vanish upstairs to search for Annie. In the end, just as the credits began to roll on the claymation _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ Mattsun said, “So, not that I’m not happy just to eat candy all day, but I believe it’s dinner time.”

Akaashi raised his eyebrows from behind his novel. “Oh? You don’t want to go hide her one more time?”

“What? No, you lost.”

“You sure about that?”

Mattsun scowled at the smirk on Akaashi’s face, then stomped upstairs and swore loudly when he didn’t find her where he’d last left her—inside a basket in the closet of the laundry room—and instead sitting on top of the shower curtain in the third-floor bathroom with the broken toilet and cracked shower that, if used, would leak water onto the second-floor landing below. After he changed back into appropriate going-out clothes he went back downstairs and came upon Akaashi and Makki laughing over some joke he’d missed. “Guess I’ll go get the food.”

Finger pressed in his book to keep his place, Akaashi grinned at him like a Disney villain. “Guess you will.”

“Smug asshole.”

Makki giggled, popping another piece of fudge in his mouth. “No need for name-calling.”

“You shut the fuck up, too,” Mattsun said pleasantly as he shrugged into his new jacket. Akaashi whistled a cat-call at him as he left, and he saw Makki peeking out the window to watch him go. The walk there was cold, but the jacket Akaashi had bought him was lined with soft, warm fur and the hood he pulled up over his head kept the wind from biting at his ears.

* * *

After he returned to the brownstone with the food—grilled salmon and roast duck, lots of vegetables, and a huge salad with plenty of feta crumbled overtop—they ate sitting around the kitchen table, watching as a fresh wave of snow that fell in the backyard.

“So, I know—sort of—why Mattsun didn’t go home,” Makki said, pulling flaky bits of salmon apart, “but why didn’t you?”

Akaashi’s smile was that of someone who was more upset than happy. He didn’t like talking about his family, and the only reason Mattsun knew about his old home life was because Akaashi had had to go back to Colorado for his mother’s funeral four months ago. “My dad doesn’t approve of me.”

Makki paused mid-chew. “Oh.”

“Mhm-hmm.” Akaashi speared half a tiny potato with his fork, then began crushing it under the tines. His voice was harsh and crisp when he said, “He wasn’t happy when I came out. He wasn’t happy when I didn’t want to play sports. He wasn’t happy when I decided to go into modeling. He’s never been happy with me and I’ve never really liked him, either. So after my mother passed—and I was never very close with her either, because she never came to my defense when he—well, was an asshole. After she passed I told him I wouldn’t contact him anymore, and he said that was fine with him.” He looked up as Mattsun reached over and gently pulled his hand away from his plate since the vegetables were just mush now. “What about you, Makki?” he asked curtly.

Makki looked like he wanted to comment on Akaashi’s harsh, painful commentary of his past, but instead explained about his sister, and his family being a bit intense, and preferring them in her company since she could dampen their interrogations of him and his new life in the City. When it was clear that neither of them wanted to go into more detail about their families, and in fact that Akaashi was a little angry with memories of his, and Makki a little guilty over avoiding his, Akaashi stood and began cleaning his place at the table.

“I’m going to go to bed,” he said, dumping his things in the sink. “It was good to spend Christmas with you, Makki.”

When he was gone, taking his novel upstairs with him, Mattsun rebuilt the fire so that he and Makki could sit carefully on the couch together, not touching, but _close_. Finally, they put on _It’s a Wonderful Life_ and watched it together. Mattsun missed most of the nuances of the film because, even though he’d probably seen it a hundred times, Makki was absolutely absorbed in it. Mattsun could swear that he even mouthed along with some of the lines. At the very end of the movie, Makki turned a broad, pleased smile on him.

“Did you like it?”

Mattsun smiled, chuckling a little at how happy Makki looked. “Yes, I did.”

“Do you want to watch it again?”

He laughed. “Don’t you have a hundred other movies in that case of yours?”

“Oh.” Makki glanced at the table under the television where the case sat, considering. His fingers pressed into the couch cushion beside his leg, close enough to his own leg that Mattsun wondered if it was purposeful. “I mean, maybe. We could watch another.” His voice was a little far away, searching through his mental catalog of films. He shifted, untucking his feet, and his body shifted closer. The couch was not that big. “It’s not that late.”

Mattsun’s heart squeezed. Against his better judgment, he let his fingers drift closer, their little fingers touching. Makki’s eyes flicked down, then up to meet Mattsun’s gaze. In the background, the credits ended and the movie flicked back to the menu.

“Makki,” he began, then had to pause because his mouth was suddenly dry. Makki turned his fingers, letting them slide under Mattsun’s.

“Yes, Mattsun?”

He inhaled. He exhaled. His brain skipped and he closed his eyes, curling his hand so that Makki’s fingers pressed up into his palm. He could barely get the words out: “Can you give me one reason that I shouldn’t kiss you?”

There was silence for a long moment, and when he opened his eyes he saw Makki watching him, his eyes intense and his lips pressed together. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth in thought, glancing away… and then back, gaze holding. “I probably can,” he whispered, “but I’d rather not.”

At first, the kiss was so insubstantial, the barest brush of lips, the ghost of breath over their mouths. Then Makki tilted his chin, Mattsun gathered his courage, and it became real. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was the one that caused Mattsun’s chest to shiver with nerves— _want_.

He wanted.

Makki’s breath in his mouth; his lips trembling.

He _wanted_.

Makki’s hand holding his, the quickening pulse in his wrist a promise.

_He wanted_.

Makki gasped a soft sound and he shifted, turning and twisting until he was spread across the couch and Mattsun had to maneuver himself over him without crushing him into the cushions. His arm was stuck under Makki’s shoulder; his foot caught between the cushions; it was an uncomfortable position, but he didn’t want to move; their chests touched; knees pressed into legs; Makki’s toes curled on his calf.

“Issei…” Makki whispered. His arms circled Mattsun’s waist, fingers dancing over the thin fabric of his shirt.

Mattsun kissed him again, melting into him, everything in him giddy as Makki surged upwards to surround him. Something hummed in his ears—Mattsun thought it might be his soul singing.

Dragging his mouth away, just enough to brush his lips over Mattsun’s cheek, Makki whispered, “Can you give me one reason we shouldn’t go upstairs now?” He touched his mouth to the over-sensitive skin just in front of Mattsun’s ear.

Mattsun closed his eyes. Lowered his head to hide in Makki’s neck. His pulse drummed against Mattsun’s cheek, against his palm, fast and fluttery. _It’s too soon. It’s too soon. It’s too soon._

_My room is a mess._

_What will people think?_

_It’s hard to think straight around you._

“I probably can,” he said, “but I’d rather not.”

* * *

Mattsun had discovered that he had new kinks—which, considering his in-depth study of them from the moment he discovered sex, was impressive. He’d discovered _several_ new kinks, actually, and all of them were Makki.

His hands—how soft they were, with slender fingers that were stronger than they looked and slim, petit knuckles. His mouth—the shape when he smiled, the sound as he moaned while Mattsun kissed him, the way he sucked his lower lip between his teeth anytime he was thinking something dirty.

The room around them was dark, up on the third floor where the headlights of passing cars couldn’t reach, and the street lamps felt far below. Mattsun’s eyes had adjusted to the small lights of the room—stereo system, cable box, green numbers on the alarm clock he never used, and he could see Makki watching him, too.

They lay beside each other on his bed, spread out along each other as they continued to kiss. One of Makki’s hands searched, found the hem of his shirt, and peeked underneath. The tips of them were chilled, and Mattsun felt gooseflesh rise along his shoulders. He smiled, ducking his head into Makki’s shoulder and kissing his throat over his collar bone—he’d already unbuttoned his pajama shirt and had it thrown open so Mattsun could kiss his skin.

“Your fingers are cold.”

“I know…”

“And you’re shaking.”

Makki’s voice shook. “I know.” After a tremulous inhale, he reached out with his other hand towards the bedside lamp. “Do you think…?”

“The light? Sure.” Mattsun sat up and strained a moment, having to move away from Makki in order to click on the lamp. Warm yellow light flooded the room, and Mattsun had to blink a few times as his eyes were assaulted with it. “Better?”

Makki was on his back, his arm still thrown to the side, his eyes locked on the new light. “Yes,” he whispered. His hand withdrew from under Mattsun’s shirt to press the heel of it just under his eye. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Mattsun said, tracing one of his fingers over Makki’s arm, following the curve of muscle. He pulled Makki’s hand away to press it against his mouth, painting his lips over the lines in his palm. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” Makki responded too quickly. His fingers spread, brushing over Mattsun’s cheek. “Do you think...”

“Mhm?” Mattsun kissed his slim, slender fingers, letting of Makki’s knuckles bend into his mouth. He bit his knuckle with the edges of his teeth. 

“Your shirt?” He sounded inexorably shy.

Mattsun chuckled, dropping his hand so he could pull his shirt over his head and toss it towards the general direction of the laundry hamper he never used. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Makki whispered, sitting up and moving close to touch Mattsun’s bare chest. “You know, I thought you’d have more piercings. Or tattoos.”

“I mean, I might. You haven’t seen all of me yet.” Mattsun watched his fingers, wondered if Makki could feel how hard his heart beat inside his chest.

“Do you?” Makki’s eyes flicked to meet his. His palm pressed flat right over his heart.

“Find out.” It was easy to tease him and to see how his cheeks flushed pink. “What”—his laugh was unintentional—“have you been imagining me with all sorts of jewelry and ink on obscure bits of skin?”

Makki shook his head, laughing as well. “I’ll never tell.” He pulled Mattsun down to kiss him again, at first just a gentle press of lips, tentative and exploratory, until Mattsun tucked their fingers together and pushed Makki’s hands into the bed beside his head and pressed their hips together. Makki moaned into his mouth, one of his legs hooking around Mattsun’s thigh and holding him.

He trailed kisses over Makki’s cheek and down his throat, into the dip of his collarbone and over his chest while his fingers followed the shape of Makki’s arms and to his chest, cupping his hands under Makki’s body to hold him up as he arched into Mattsun’s mouth. Makki’s hands fisted into the sheets when Mattsun licked one of his nipples and then blew a cool breath over it. There was nothing hurried about them now, and Mattsun took his time exploring the nuances of Makki’s body—sucking each of his nipples into his mouth and grazing with his teeth so that Makki moaned and writhed under him. He traced the shape of Makki’s ribs with kisses and trailed down to his hip, making Makki twist in his hands.

His voice was already halfway through a laugh. “Stop!”

Mattsun raised his face, grinning. “Sensitive?” He spread his fingers, squeezing a little as Makki’s smile stretched in a laugh and then vanished when he hid it behind a fist.

“I’m telling you now,” Makki said from behind his hand, “I’m very ticklish. So, if you get kneed in the face it’s not my fault.”

Dropping his forehead to Makki’s stomach, smiling when he could feel the tremors of breathless laughter, he said into his skin, “Promise I’ll be careful.” He slid down and licked his way across the fine, nearly colorless hair trailing from his belly and lower.

His fingers tugged, Makki helpfully raised his hips, and Mattsun pulled his pants down to his knees to expose him. Makki didn’t smell like flowers here—it was entirely different but no less sweet. Mattsun buried his nose in the crease of his hip and licked at the groove, tasting the salt of his sweat and inhaling the delicate, soft scent between his legs. “God,” he moaned into his skin, dragging his open mouth over every bit of skin he could reach, all along his cock, thighs, hip, and belly. “You’re so beautiful. It’s completely unfair.”

“You’re beautiful, too,” Makki said, stroking his fingers through his hair.

“Not like you.” Mattsun traced his nose across Makki’s hip.

Makki gently tugged at his hair, and Mattsun crawled up his body to kiss him again while they both kicked at Makki’s pajama bottoms until they were off the bed. He fumbled with Mattsun’s belt and jeans until Mattsun chuckled and made to help him. “No, no,” Makki gasped against his mouth. “I can do—there. Off, off.”

Laughing a little, Mattsun shucked away his pants, too, and they were both naked. He spread himself out over Makki’s body, skin to skin, touching everywhere he could reach until Makki’s arms came around his waist, and Mattsun cradled Makki’s head in his hands while they kissed. They kissed for a long time, learning exactly how well they fit together until the air between them was warm and scented with their bodies.

Makki’s hands explored, tracing over Mattsun’s spine and shoulder, over his ass and down to tickle the backs of his thighs. When Mattsun gently bit at his lip, Makki’s nails dug in as he tensed and arched, and when Makki retaliated by sucking on Mattsun’s tongue or pulling the ring under it Mattsun dug his fingers harder into Makki’s hair.

After what felt like hours—still not enough—Makki tucked his face into Mattsun’s neck, nuzzling into his hair and saying in a breathless sigh, “Please...” His hands clutched at Mattsun’s shoulders, his feet pressing into the mattress so he could cant his hips upwards. His body was trembling again, shuddering deep in his chest whenever he breathed.

Lowering his head, Mattsun pressed their foreheads together. He wrapped his arms around Makki, trying to stop his shivering. In a voice so small Mattsun had to strain to hear it, Makki said, “It’s been a long time for me...”Their eyes met, and they both paused to take a moment to _see_ each other. Makki’s face was a mask, but his eyes were pleading for something else—he didn’t know Makki well enough to tell what it was, but knew that he had to provide it.

“Let me take care of you,” Mattsun whispered back. After a small, careful kiss, he pulled away to dig around in his bedside drawer—usually, he was better prepared with all necessities well within reach—and was disappointed to see Makki turning onto his belly and pulling one of the pillows down to bury his face in it. He kissed his way down body and stroked a soothing hand over his back when he felt him shivering. “Makki,” he said gently, “are you…” He was unsure of what he was trying to ask. _Okay? Scared? Nervous? Excited?_

Makki turned to gaze over his shoulder. “Like I said, a long time. I’m okay, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm-hmm.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Mattsun promised, grinning when Makki let out a little breathless laugh. He remembered when they’d first met, and how Makki had insisted that he could do anything and everything, offering himself up to Mattsun’s imagination, and wondered how either of them would have handled it if Mattsun had taken him up on that offer. He thought that Makki’s boldness had been an attempt at covering up how nervous he was. That’s what he hoped, anyway.

He worked Makki open with his fingers, taking his time to really explore the sounds he could make. And _oh,_ he made such lovely sounds. He wasn’t shy about being vocal, and while he wasn’t loud, he was certainly varying in the noises he made. Mattsun found out that if he pressed his fingers in deep while dragging his nails gently over his spine Makki would groan soft and low in his throat; if he stretched his fingers Makki’s voice keened high and he would press his face into the mattress as he rocked back; when Mattsun massaged the super-sensitive spot inside him Makki would pant out a moan with each breath. One of Makki’s hands clawed back, finding Mattsun’s leg and squeezing.

“Mattsun,” he breathed into the sheets, his chest heaving. “Please, please—” He reached, fingers spread, and Mattsun tangled their fingers together. “I want you.”

Even through the thin layer of the condom between them, Makki’s body was an inferno that threatened to never let Mattsun back out again. He rolled his hips, watching as Makki’s entire body flexed in response, and he pushed against him, and after a moment of careful listening heard Makki whispering, “Thank you, thank you…”

That surprised Mattsun and made him curious again as to what Makki's past with the lifestyle was. Who had taught him this? He tucked his arm up under Makki's chest and pulled him up until they were kneeling together, chest to back, so Mattsun could kiss his throat, play with his nipples, stroke his stomach and cock, and whisper into his ear just how good Mattsun felt being inside him. The position made his thrusts shallow, but Makki dropped his head back on Mattsun's shoulder, and his mouth made the shape of his name— _Issei, Sir, yes—_ without actually saying anything at all. Mattsun liked watching the way his face shifted with the thrust of Mattsun’s hips.

Makki turned his face, catching Mattsun's eye for a long moment where they were both still, drinking each other in, feeling every place where they touched, the cool air from the overhead fan that blew over the places they didn't, the drops of sweat at Makki's hairline that Mattsun wanted to suck off his skin, the shiver of his spine as he stretched backward. Mattsun spread a hand up his throat and cupped around his jaw to pull him in for a messy kiss, open-mouthed and dirty, tugging on Makki's lip with his teeth and letting Makki's tongue slip in to tug at the ring under his tongue.

He let Makki down onto his hands and knees, spreading his hands over Makki’s back and around his chest, sliding back down his sides to hold his hips. Makki’s skin was burning hot, and he shifted in time with Mattsun’s thrusts, his head dropping to rest on his arms. He could feel Makki’s body quivering, breathing in deep, steady breaths. Mattsun leaned into him, pressing deep as he reached down and circled his fingers around Makki’s cock, stroking in time with Makki’s purposeful breaths—the same rhythm Mattsun had taught him the first night they’d met. That meant he was close, and Mattsun could feel it in every inch of his body.

“Ah, fuck—” Makki said suddenly, but this wasn’t a good sound. His left arm collapsed, and he cried out, “Shit—ow! Fuck, stop.” He fumbled for a moment, his mouth opening and closing before he said, “Red light, red light.”

A chill of fear ran down Mattsun's spine, and he jerked himself away, afraid he'd hurt Makki somehow. "What happened?" he asked, trying to hide how frantic and worried he was. His panic rose higher as Makki curled in on himself, clutching at his shoulder. A tear fell from his eye to drop onto the pillow under him. "Shit, are you ok?"

Makki nodded, gasping, sucking in sharp breaths as he rolled onto his back. His face was pinched with pain, cradling his left arm close to his chest and clutching at his shoulder. “S-Sorry…”

"No, no, it's okay," Mattsun assured him, scooting up to sit beside him. He reached out, but Makki flinched when he touched his shoulder, so he pulled his hand away. "Did I hurt you? Can I get you something?"

Makki shook his head, biting at his lip. He was quiet for a few moments while he took deeper and deeper breaths, working his way through the pain he was feeling. “No…” he finally said, opening his eyes. “Not you. My fault…”

“Do you need some … Tylenol? Ice pack? Heating pad? Massage?” He had no idea what the problem was, except that it looked like muscle pain.

“No, just…” Makki turned his face to him. “Can we finish? I was _so close_ to coming.”

Mattsun, against all reason, felt his face flush. If Makki hadn’t gotten hurt, they would have probably come _together_ without any actual verbal coordination. Fuck, that was so hot. “But you’re hurt,” he said, ashamed that his voice was thick with desire.

“It’s okay,” Makki told him, reaching out to touch his cheek. His fingers were so soft. “Just let me off my left shoulder. I hurt it a while back and it’s still healing.”

Mattsun leaned into his palm, kissing it gently. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Makki smiled, sitting up and gently pushing Mattsun onto his back, then swinging his leg over his hips. “Will you make me beg?”

Mattsun did not make him beg. Really, Mattsun was the one that wanted to beg. _Please stay with me; you make me feel more than I've felt in a long time_ ; but, of course, he didn't say it aloud, not even when they came together, and Makki's scent surrounded him as Mattsun clutched him close and buried his face in his neck.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: We start to learn about Makki's abusive past relationship. this: || will be at the beginning of those paragraphs. (only one in this chapter, though)

“I need to go home,” Makki murmured into the pillow. He was still naked, but Mattsun had draped his lower half with a sheet to quell the gooseflesh along his thighs.

Mattsun crouched beside the bed digging at a different drawer in his bedside table. “Do you have to?” he asked, distracted as he pulled out papers, old phones, a plethora of pens, and a few bottles which he turned to read the labels of. “It’s late and…” He trailed off, scoffing when he shook the bottle and found it empty and had to resume his search. “I know I’ve got Tylenol in here somewhere.”

Carefully, Makki sat up, pain zipping across his left shoulder where the muscles had been sewn together. “It won’t help,” he said. Mattsun looked up at him, eyebrows raised in a _are you sure?_ fashion. Makki reached out and Mattsun took his hand to press it to his cheek. “Trust me, I’ve tried. I’d like to stay, I really would, but I need the good painkillers.”

Mattsun said against his palm, “I could go home with you, if you want.”

He absolutely did want that, but he also wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The juxtaposition of those feelings confused and concerned him. He needed to work them out and understand where his head was at. “No, I’ll probably just go home and sleep, to be honest.” _Or try, anyway_.

“If you’re sure.”

“Mhm, yeah. My pills put me to sleep, anyway.” He slid to the edge of the bed, toeing up his underwear from the floor. “Is there somewhere I can wash up?”

"Yeah. There's a door on the right-hand side just across the landing. The bathtub doesn't work, but the sink's fine. If there's not a washcloth in there check the laundry room opposite the bathroom. It should be easy to spot."

When Makki stood to go, Mattsun reached out and spread a hand over his hip, frowning up at him with a worried tilt to his eyebrows. “I’m fine,” Makki told him—ignoring the way Mattsun’s lips tensed in aggravation—then padded across the tiny hall, glancing at the pictures of sunflowers and concert venues lining the walls, and found the bathroom. It was small and cramped, the broken bathtub taking up more than half the space. The toilet and floor were covered in piles of laundry and unopened boxes that said _Fresh Produce_ but Makki suspected were instead perpetually unpacked moving boxes. There was a pile of washcloths on the corner of the vanity—no mirror, probably a good thing—next to a toothbrush and a stick of deodorant. He ran the water until it was hot and then began wiping at his body, trying to clean himself and wishing he could take a shower.

His shoulder simmered and boiled with fiery pain. He avoided touching it but every movement smarted. That had been stupid, trying to support his weight on his arms, and he’d be paying for that momentary lapse of judgment for days. With every beat of his heart, he felt the pain burn hotter until it was hard to focus on anything at all. He leaned against the wall, clutching his arm to his chest in the shape of a sling, pressing the rag to his mouth and trying not to scream into it. Maybe he should have taken the Tylenol… it wouldn’t have helped but maybe he could have tricked his brain into believing it would.

A knock at the door made him startle and straighten abruptly, pulling open the bathroom door. Mattsun stood on the other side, having put on his matching pajamas, his face pinched in a way that told Makki that he’d probably knocked several times before Makki had heard him. “Here, I got your clothes for you. And I’ve called you a cab since it’s late and I’m sure the transit is horrible on Christmas.”

“It’s not great,” Makki mumbled in agreement. “Thank you.” He eyed the clothing for a moment, considering how much it would hurt to dress and how long it would take him.

“Do you want help?” Mattsun asked, his voice so carefully put together that Makki knew he’d figured out his thoughts. He let his fingers curl around Makki’s arm and tugged gently. “Come on, back to the bedroom.”

They walked across the hall and Mattsun sat him on the edge of his bed then helped him dress like he was a toddler. When he held Makki’s shirt up his frown twisted a little. “Can you—hm…”

Makki still held his arm against his chest, and he felt how tense his entire body was as he tried to ignore the pain. He was trying to control his breathing, but his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. He couldn’t talk, but instead just shook his head, feeling a tear welling up in his eye—ashamed.

Mattsun simply slid his shirt over his head and let him put his good arm through. “Keep your other arm in place, ok? It’ll be better.” He ran a hand through Makki’s hair, his fingers comforting as they stroked just behind his ear. Makki leaned his head against Mattsun’s body, nuzzling in as Mattsun continued to pet him. He closed his eyes, comforted to be here, and pushed the tears away from the surface—and found that they went away more easily and fully than they usually would, chased away by Mattsun’s presence. His brain asked him when the last time he felt safe was… and then skittered away from the length of time before he could really consider it.

“Come on,” Mattsun said softly. “We should go downstairs.”

In the foyer, Mattsun crouched and helped Makki slide his feet into his shoes, then tied them with swift proficiency. Makki laughed a little, forcing it out so their last few minutes together weren’t somber. “I’m going to be able to untie that, right?” When Mattsun only frowned up at him he clarified, “It’s not some weird knot or anything?”

With a sharp laugh, Mattsun stood and pushed his feet into his boots. “No, no. It’s the bunny-ear technique, if you must know.” He smiled too, and spent a few minutes gathering Makki’s things from the living room, carefully packing his gifts and pajamas in the bag he’d brought.

“You can keep the candy.”

Mattsun frowned at the pile of wrappers beside the couch, considering. “Half. I really need to stop eating so much chocolate at the holidays.”

Before Makki could respond there was a loud wail of a car horn outside and when he peeked out the sidelight he saw the bold yellow of a taxi cab at the curb. Mattsun paused with his hand on the door, frowning at him.

“What?”

“Mhm… that jacket doesn’t look warm enough.” He turned to the coat rack and picked up the large overcoat he’d worn the day they’d gone out together and draped it gingerly over Makki’s shoulders. “There.”

Smiling, Makki allowed Mattsun to walk him to the curb, the snow petaling down around them. He wasn’t cold—but it wasn’t the triple layer of clothing that kept him warm. “Thank you for this,” he said. “For everything.”

Mattsun smiled at him, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. His fingers were still warm, and Makki closed his eyes in pleasure, and squeaked a surprise laugh when Mattsun kissed him. “Let me know when you get home.”

“I will,” Makki promised. “I won’t forget.” As he turned to get into the car he caught sight of his flamingo still in the window and gasped in horror.

But Mattsun was already waving his hands. “I’ll take care of it for now. We’ll take it to your apartment when you’re not hurting, okay?”

Makki wanted to protest. He wanted his flamingo to come home with him _now_ and put him on the wall so the stars over his bed might reflect the pink of the neon. Mattsun touched his head and Makki dropped into the backseat of the car, though. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Mattsun leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas, Makki.” His smile lit up all the dark, cold places inside Makki’s heart, even the ones that he wouldn’t admit existed even to himself. It scared him… peeking into those places. He didn’t know what he’d find down there. Would he find a way to be okay with everything that had happened to him or would he find that he was even more broken than he already thought?

“Merry Christmas, Mattsun.”

The door closed and Makki turned completely around in his seat to watch Mattsun’s shrinking form as the cab drove off, feeling Mattsun’s gaze on him the same way. Neither of them wanted to be apart, it seemed. Even years later, Aaron—he felt how the name stabbed at a dangerous place in his throat as if choking him—was still ruining everything.

* * *

As soon as he walked into his apartment an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness engulfed him. It weighed his bones down and he felt rooted to the spot, not even having closed his front door yet. He missed the brownstone _so much_ in that moment. The rich, cozy red of Mattsun’s walls; the comforting warmth of his bedsheets; the crackling of the fire, and the husky smoke that rose from it; laughing with Akaashi over a silly text-chain that he’d received with too many emojis and a bunch of dirty jokes too vulgar to be taken seriously; the feel of Mattsun’s hand on his hair. He could smell the lingering scents of other families’ Christmas dinners wafting through the vents, and hear the sound of the upstairs neighbors’ kids even though it was very very late.

All he had to come home to was a cold bed, dust motes in the air, and fake stars that made him feel small even as they told him that he was alright. Everything around him was alive, while all he felt was distinctly _not_ alive. He forced himself to breathe in. Breathe out. Close the door. He took his medicine, painfully stripped off the jackets and shirt, and dug out the machine that his father had bought him after physical therapy for his shoulder. He filled it with water and ice and, with a lot of painful stops and starts, strapped the pads around his shoulder. It was like a second skin and pumped ice-cold water through tiny veins in the fabric in order to cool his aching muscles. He’d used it after his surgery at the hospital, and when he’d gone home using just ice or cold packs from the local drugstore hadn’t cut it. So, even though it was expensive, his father had said it would be worth it if it helped him not hurt. His father hadn’t known that most of Makki’s pain wasn’t physical. Or maybe he had… and this was the only way he knew how to help his son. Either way, Makki was grateful as he leaned against his bed and let the machine work, slowly numbing the muscles of his shoulder.

He’d thought that he wanted to be alone but, as it turned out, he really _really_ didn’t want to be. Sitting in the echoes of his neighbors and other happy families made him realize how alone he was. He pressed the heel of his hand just under his eye, at first just a touch and then harder as the memory of torn skin and blood flickered over his senses. _Not there, not there. Not now._ In an attempt to distract himself, (and before he could forget) he slipped his phone from the pocket of Mattsun’s overcoat and texted him — _home now_

Mattsun’s response was immediate — _good. did u take meds? r u in bed?_

— _not yet._

And as he was typing out the next sentence Mattsun replied with a tiny red angry emoji and a — _why not?_

— _im icing my shoulder n letting meds kick in. dont make that face at me! 15 min then bed._

— _so can u talk?_

Instead of answering the text, Makki tapped the button that would call him. Mattsun answered quickly, and he sounded like he was eating something as he said, “How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing?” Makki asked suspiciously, smiling because he already knew.

There was a crinkling of paper and aluminum and Mattsun said, “Mhm, I told you not to leave that candy.”

“How much have you eaten?”

Mattsun hummed a little, and Makki could imagine him picking up wrappers or pretending to count what was left. “Well, let’s just say that I _definitely_ have to start going back to the gym.”

Laughing, Makki tugged Mattsun’s jacket over the rest of his body and buried his face in the collar to catch wisps of his scent that lingered. “When my shoulder’s better I can go with you.”

“Yeah?” Mattsun sounded like he was cleaning, and Makki could hear him walking back and forth to the kitchen and back to the living room. The sound of him poking at the dying embers in the fireplace. Climbing the stairs, the steady _tmp tmp tmp_ of his footsteps going all the way up made Makki almost able to visualize himself there. “I’d like that. So… I just realized, and I’m really sorry about this, but I forgot to pack your movies in your bag.”

Makki almost shrugged and sucked in a pained breath when he couldn’t. “That’s fine, I’ve got almost all my movies in digital form, too. No, no, I’m ok, just moved in the wrong way.”

Mattsun was quiet a moment. “That must be a lot of storage space. I saw your DVD collection.”

“I have several external hard drives. And my Amazon library takes a while to scroll through.”

Mattsun laughed at the seriousness with which Makki delivered this statement. “So… you don’t need them, then?”

“No.” He paused, realizing what Mattsun had been asking. He was offering to come. To bring them. An excuse to be there. “I mean… I don’t know. It’s—late.”

They both knew it was late. It was almost midnight. They both knew that it was absolutely illogical—a trek across a snow-covered city just to go to sleep. He knew Mattsun would do it, though, if Makki asked.

“How about this—” Mattsun said, distracting him, “—just give me a second. Let me—” He cut himself off and as Makki listened he could hear him shuffling around, swearing softly to himself at some unknown error, and then, “Ah, there we go.”

“What did you do?”

“Can you hear it?”

Makki leaned his head against the foot of his bed and pressed the phone to his ear, frowning as he strained his ears. He heard music that he instantly recognized. “You’re watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ ,” he said with a little laugh.

“Well, we are. I’ll turn it up so you can hear it easier. I figure you know the movie by heart so you can listen while I watch it again.”

“Oh!” Makki smiled, rubbing his cheek over the soft cloth inside of Mattsun’s jacket. “Is it sad that I can see exactly what’s happening in my head as I hear it?”

“That’s what I was counting on.” There was another shuffle of fabrics and then Mattsun sighed heavily, sounding like he was deflating.

Makki whispered, “Are you in bed now?”

“Mhm-hmm.”

He could imagine it: Mattsun under the heavy gray comforter, he wouldn’t have it pulled up very high because he was so hot-natured. He’d turn off his lights, lit only by the black and white of the movie in the background. Makki wondered if he’d taken off his piercings or if he slept in them.

The timer sounded on the machine and he pulled the shoulder pads off before crawling over his own blankets and tugged a bunch of pillows around him so he felt like he was in a nest of cotton. He was shivering from the cold and bundled up Mattsun’s jacket to lay his face on, pretending that the heavy blankets and the smell of him was almost as good as the real human. “I’m in bed now, too.” He laid the phone on top of his head so he could burrow down into the sheets.

“Good,” Mattsun said, soft enough to not overtake the sound of the movie. “George just figured out it was poison in those capsules.”

“I know,” Makki whispered, giggling. He knew the movie by heart. They stayed on the phone while the movie played, every now and then one of them commenting on some scene or another. Makki’s eyelids were heavy, and he felt himself drifting off into sleep. He wondered if he should tell Mattsun—the movie wasn’t even halfway over yet. He was slow and laden with warmth now, the blankets having contained all the heat from his body. “Mattsun...” he said, barely audible.

“Go to sleep, Makki,” Mattsun said back, voice all husky soft. “I’ll stay on the phone with you.”

He curled up and murmured into the phone, trying to tell Mattsun that he’d stay up and finish the movie with him, at least, but the weight of sleep had its fingers hooked in him and dragged him slowly under until he was so far down he didn’t even realize he’d forgotten to turn on his starlight.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, they found a comfortable rhythm with each other. It usually consisted of the same sleepy phone calls as they got ready for bed until one or both of them fell asleep. Makki had learned after two days of struggling on no battery and rushing from outlet to outlet to charge his phone that he should just charge it overnight, even though the cord sometimes left an imprint on his face.

They didn’t always see each other before lunch, both of their schedules becoming busy as the fashion industry geared up for spring and summer lines. But they would eat lunch together every day, venturing further and further away from the building so that Makki could experience more of the city. And in the afternoon after they were done with work they would complain the entire time they were at the gym together, but both liked going _together_ much more than alone, plus it was another excuse to spend time together. More often than not they would go to the brownstone and Makki would bring his digital movie collection under the guise that he could give Mattsun a cinematic education. Mattsun missed a lot of this education though because he spent much of it in various states of undress with his mouth somewhere on Makki’s skin.

They hadn’t _told_ anyone about their relationship yet. Luke had moved away just after New Years but by some silent agreement they both had decided to keep their relationship _theirs_ just a while longer. Not a secret, just not shoving it in the faces of their friends. Only Akaashi seemed to catch on, but he never said anything except to not-so-subtly wink at Mattsun whenever Makki walked into a room, which would send him _and_ Makki into a fit of giggles.

One afternoon in late January they were in Mattsun’s bed, the end of _Jurassic Park_ playing softly on the television. Makki leaned against the headboard, his heart still pattering in his chest and several of his muscles still twitching every now and then. Okay, so they’d missed _most_ of the movie, but _Jurassic was a classic_ and Makki never minded watching it over again. Mattsun lay on his stomach, mostly asleep, his head in Makki’s lap and arms around his waist with the blanket bunched up under his cheek.

Makki stroked a finger over the hoops in Mattsun’s earlobe, making them swivel up and down and clink together in a tiny, pleasant way that he liked. They were the kind that he didn’t have to take out if he didn’t want to, twisting into themselves so that each individual one formed a complete closed loop and wouldn’t poke him when he lay on them. He looked so relaxed while he slept. Makki hated to wake him, but they hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and Makki already knew that if Mattsun took a nap now he’d never go to sleep at a reasonable hour and he’d be grumpy in the morning.

“Hey, Mattsun?”

When he didn’t immediately respond Makki poked his finger against his cheek to rouse him. Mattsun turned his face into the blankets and grumbled, which made Makki giggle.

“You need to get up.”

“Again?”

Makki laughed, scrubbing his fingers into Mattsun’s hair. “We need to get food. And watch this movie. And you can’t go to sleep. You told me last time you took a nap in the afternoon you didn’t sleep till, like, three in the morning or something.”

Mattsun huffed into his leg, “Three fifteen in the fucking _morning_.”

“Precisely.” Another poke—and when he didn’t move Makki tugged very gently on the topmost hoop in his ear. “Up, up, up.”

With a heaving sigh, Mattsun rolled off him and stretched his arms over his head as he yawned. He was like a panther—dark and alluring and absolutely all muscle. It made Makki seriously reconsider whether or not he could have sex so quickly … but no, he actually was really hungry. He slipped off the bed and pulled on his jeans, stretching his own back out once he had them on.

Behind him, Mattsun asked, “How’s your shoulder?” He’d been more worried about it ever since the first time they’d been together, even more than Makki was. It would have been endearing except for the fact that whenever he asked it made Makki _think_ about it hurting and then it would begin to hurt just to spite him.

He said the only thing that he would ever say about it. “It’s fine.” _Fine. His shoulder was fine. He was fine. Every—thing—was—fine._

He didn’t have to see Mattsun’s face to know it was twisted in a frustrated grimace.

“What do you want to do about dinner?”

“Makki.” His voice was cooly collected.

“I really like that deli down the street.”

Makki flinched when Mattsun took a deep breath, obviously frustrated with him. He pressed his nail into the side of one of the buttons on the DVD player, not wanting to look at Mattsun.

“Come here, please.”

He stood frozen for a moment, his mind inching towards the quiet place he was used to hiding in whenever—brain skittering to a faulty, painful stop at the name—Aaron had been angry. Then he moved automatically over towards Mattsun and let him wrap his arms around his waist. Mattsun hugged him for a long moment, his fingers trailing up over his back and down.

“Why—” He paused, pulling away enough so they could look properly at each other. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Makki could hear how flat his own voice sounded.

Annoyed, Mattsun snapped, “That!” He pressed his lips together and looked like he was chastising himself. “I mean… that. Deflecting. Ignoring me. Saying _fine_ when I’ve told you that I don’t like that word.”

Makki looked away, trying to read the books on his bookshelf on the other side of the room. He was quiet for a long time, but Mattsun was patient, and Makki was nervous. Eventually, he said, “I don’t know. Habit, I guess.”

“Care to tell me why that’s a habit in your life?”

“No.”

Mattsun let out a sharp sigh and steered him away with his hands on Makki’s hips. Shaking his head, he stood and dressed, looking pensive and annoyed. Makki stood stock still, watching him, trying to figure out if he was in real trouble or not, worrying the corner of his cheek with his teeth—another nervous habit ingrained in him a long time ago. “Get dressed,” Mattsun told him. “I’m going downstairs, and when you come down we’re going to go to that deli and we’re going to talk about … your habits.” His voice was slipping into that carefully put together tone that meant he was trying to keep it from sounding like he was mad. Which meant he was. Which meant that Makki had ruined everything.

Makki reached up to touch his cheek, just under his eye where the skin tingled. “I’m sorry.”

Mattsun was silent, considering his words as he shrugged into a jacket. Then he touched Makki’s hand and covered his cheek with his hand before leaning down to kiss the other side of his face. “Don’t be. We’re still figuring each other out. Let’s just talk.”

Makki squeezed his eyes shut at how gentle he was, how he tried to soothe with just his voice. Aaron had been able to do things with his voice, too; had been able to make Makki feel things he didn’t want to feel, both good and bad. “I don’t... mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He kissed the crease between Makki’s eyebrows and then tucked him under his chin, being careful to not squeeze Makki’s left side as he wrapped his arms around him. “I just know that … I want us to …” He hesitated, still cradling Makki against his chest, but unsure what he wanted to say. Makki waited, letting himself be held, basking in the way it felt to be held gently, able to lean against him and be comforted and not worried that he’d be shoved away.

Mattsun finally said, “Look. My last relationship fell apart because we stopped talking to each other. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Makki lay his forehead on Mattsun’s shoulder. “I’m not good at talking.”

“To be honest with you, I’m not either. I have to work very hard sometimes to remind myself that my partner can’t read my mind.”

They stood together like that for several minutes digesting this truth about each other. Makki wondered if this meant they were destined to fail already. But would the happiness in between be worth it? _Yes_ , he thought, closing his eyes and nuzzling his nose under Mattsun’s collar, _yes it would be._

“Come on,” Mattsun said, gently pulling away. He touched a knuckle to Makki’s cheek and waited until Makki gave him a tentative smile back. “Let’s go get dinner.”

* * *

They got dinner. Both lost in their own thoughts on the walk there and back—with the cold still overtaking the city all the tables inside were taken. They ate while discussing the merits of _Hook_ and Googling the actors to find out what else they’d done. They never talked about themselves, but Makki could see the wheels turning behind Mattsun’s eyes, the way he was half-distracted the entire time. He was working up to something or trying to figure out how to say something that he thought would be a difficult topic.

After they’d finished their food (and Mattsun had put away the veggie flatbread he’d bought for Akaashi) they went upstairs, but on the second floor, Mattsun touched Makki’s hand to stop him from going up even further. “Wait, let’s talk in here.” He gestured to the other door that wasn’t bathroom or Akaashi’s bedroom.

“What’s in there?”

Mattsun smiled and crossed the landing. “The bedroom that almost ended mine and Akaashi’s friendship before it even began.” He opened the door and a wall of color smacked Makki in the face.

He had to blink a few times for the room to actually come into focus—bay window overlooking the street with a cushioned seat, two other dark gray couches with pastel pink pillows, and bookshelves stuffed with all manner of things: books, knick-knacks, shoes, paintbrushes, cups, notebooks. Were it not for the audacious, gaudy bright of the yellow walls, the room would be _cozy._ Instead, it was a little headache-inducing.

Mattsun directed him to one of the couches and sat him down. “The reading room,” he declared, waving a hand.

The couch was comfortable and squished just the right amount to make him think that picking up a good book and reading until dawn would be a good idea. “I like it.” He eyed the color of the walls with trepidation.

Mattsun scowled at the walls. “Akaashi picked the color.” He huffed and said quickly, “Well—no. We picked a nice muted yellow swatch but when he went to go pick up the colors he _decided_ ”—he said this with so much disdain Makki thought that somewhere Akaashi must be feeling a chill—“that it wasn’t _peppy_ enough or something and had a custom color mixed that we couldn’t return once I saw how fucking _yellow_ it was.”

Makki sat watching him, blinking, and trying to look like he wasn’t about to burst into laughter. He failed and buried his face in one of the pillows to suppress it as Mattsun grumbled about swatches and people making decisions on their own that affected the whole household.

“Any—way. Moving on from the tacky color of the walls. This bedroom is the biggest on the second floor, plus—y’know,” he waved a hand at the bay window, “that’s really comfortable. And when we moved in we both wanted this room. After a week of us in sleeping bags and arguing over it we finally decided that neither of us should have it. The upstairs room is bigger,” he explained, “but Akaashi’s room has the biggest closet. And at the time the plumbing worked upstairs, too.”

Makki grinned at him from behind his pillow. “You two are so petty.”

Mattsun rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, well—” He stopped himself with great effort, making a calming motion with his hands as if holding himself back from launching into a long-winded monologue about wall colors. “Nevermind.” He dug around in a trunk that was shoved in one corner of the room and came out with a slim black journal and a folder, then surprised Makki by pulling up the top of the coffee table to make it into a writing desk. “Ok, so… like I said, I think we need to sit down and talk.”

The tone of his voice made Makki squirm. “About what?”

He leveled Makki with a look that was equal parts stern and imploring. “About us. Me. You. We met in an S & M club, so I would have assumed you’d like to form that type of relationship.”

“Yes,” Makki said immediately. “Before … well, you know, when we met. If that’s how you … do it, then I really like it.”

Mattsun chuckled, ducking his head in acknowledgment. “It would be like that sometimes, yes. Sometimes it won’t. Sometimes it’ll be just like we are now—vanilla. Sometimes it will be much more intense.”

“Okay…” Makki said slowly. “So, what do we need to talk about then?”

Mattsun looked at him, his gaze steady, searching. Makki didn’t know what he was looking for, and either Mattsun didn’t either or he couldn’t find what it was. “There are a lot of things we’d need to talk about if we decided to pursue that relationship. I’d like to. I’ve been a Dom for most of my formative years, and I really enjoy it.”

Even though he looked like he wasn’t finished speaking, Makki interrupted with a sudden thought, “Why did you start doing it?”

He did not like being interrupted, and his eyes narrowed, but his voice was still gentle. “Because I like to take care of people.”

“Oh,” Makki said, a little stunned.

Mattsun smiled at him. “Not the answer you expected?” And when Makki flushed at the truth of it he continued, “It’s that, but it’s also the nuances. I enjoy planning scenes, what I think my sub will like, what I like.” His smile was halfway to a lecherous grin. “What I think will be fun, or sexy.” Reaching forward, he took Makki’s hand and turned it over, tracing his finger over each of Makki’s. “I like the amount of control it gives me—and, yes, the power exchange of the relationship. I like all the communication, and talking about what we both like or want out of a relationship. I like… knowing all your secret fantasies and making them come true.” His voice had dropped to a sultry murmur, and Makki was reminded again of how he could use that voice.

He was suddenly, inconveniently, turned on.

“But,” Mattsun continued, “I also like the way that this lifestyle values trust above all else.” He looked up to meet Makki’s gaze, his finger tracing along Makki’s palm again. “You know, another thing I like about this lifestyle… a lot of outsiders think that the control over the relationship belongs to the person in charge. Dom, Top, whatever you want to call it.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” Mattsun said, his voice low. “It does seem that way, but really, all the power is yours.”

|| Makki stared at him, trying to work this through, and finding that he didn’t see how it could be true. He hadn’t had power when Aaron had been hurting him. He hadn’t been _powerful_ when he’d spent three days tearing the muscles in his shoulder and wrenching himself free. He hadn’t had any sort of _power_ over anything in his life ever since. “That seems incorrect.”

“Think about it. No matter what’s happening, no matter how intense something is, or soft, or boring, or dangerous, anything at all, with one word you can stop everything. It’s the submissive that has that power to bring things to a complete halt. To end everything. I’m following your lead when I decide what to do. You set your limits and it’s my job to take you _just_ to the line, to keep you safe while you let yourself go... wherever _you_ go during play.”

Makki pressed his tongue to the hollow, bumpy places on his cheek where he’d chewed scabs. “Seems more like trust to me.”

Mattsun smiled at him. “You think so?”

Makki pulled his hand away, tucking it safely underneath his legs. “You could always ignore me. It’s happened to me before.”

He heard Mattsun sigh and felt his anger at Makki’s statement through the cushions. He didn’t look up, afraid to see if that anger was directed at him. Mattsun said, “That should never have happened. It’s— It’s… reprehensible. Irresponsible.” He snorted in a furious way, shaking his head. “I hate that.”

Makki hunched further down into the couch, his back bending so far he could touch his face to the book in his lap if he really wanted to.

“Makki.”

He didn’t look up.

Mattsun’s hand came to gingerly trace over the back of his neck, following the curve of his spine. “I will never betray you like that.”

His words tumbled through his mouth even without his knowledge. “But what if you do.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t fear. It was a fact. What _could_ he do if Mattsun ignored his pleas? Nothing. He knew that.

“I won’t. I promise you that.” Mattsun’s knuckle pressed into the top-most knob of his spine. “That’s why we have to build trust before we do this. I don’t want you afraid of me or the things we do together.”

Makki’s eyes closed. _And if I’m always afraid? What then, Mattsun, what then?_

After a long silence where Makki fully believed that Mattsun was waiting on him to speak, Mattsun himself finally broke and said in a voice that conveyed he was trying to coax Makki up out of the couch, “And I think that we need to build that between each other before we try to move into any scenes. I can’t satisfy you or myself if I’m scared of hurting you—well, _really_ hurting—you know what I mean. To do that, we need to talk about our experiences together, because—yes I know,” he said this because Makki had tensed again. “I know you don’t want to. And I’m not asking for _details_ … but I need to know what not to do. Do you understand?”

“I… I know…” Makki felt his spine compressing, his chest collapsing. Burying himself.

When he didn’t say anything else, Mattsun sighed. “Just tell me…” He stopped, too, both of them at a loss for how to continue. They sat in silence while the clock on the wall ticked around the face several times, Mattsun’s hand a solid and steady presence on his neck.

“Could I… ask you questions?” Makki asked, just to break the silence. He was suffocating and lifted his head to try and breathe again.

“Of course. Anything you want to know.”

“How old were you when you started?”

“Started what? This lifestyle?” He sat back against the couch, lips pursed in thought. His hand kept Makki’s, stroking his thumb over Makki’s knuckles. “I was seventeen when I saw a couple at some event I went to. A museum or an art opening or something. It was for points in a class I was taking at the time. I remember watching them all evening, and eventually, I got up the courage to talk to them and they explained in very broad terms why the girl was wearing a collar and her wife held a bejeweled leash.” He laughed at the memory. “I was too young to really seek out the community, but that just meant I had four months to do research until my birthday. As soon as I could I drove an hour to the city to join a community so I could get more hands-on learning.”

Makki had pulled his legs up, his chin resting on them, watching him as he reminisced. “That’s a long way away.”

“It was, but I grew up in a small town, and—at least in mine—no one lived that lifestyle, or if they did, they didn’t tell anyone.”

“And did you know you wanted to be a Dom from the beginning?”

Mattsun chuckled. “Oh, yes. I don’t really have the nature to be anything else. I spent two years just taking classes, and going to lectures and meetings. Play Parties where I could watch others at work and learn how I wanted to do things.”

Makki made a face and tried not to sound impatient when he said, “Is that how long it takes?”

“To learn?” Mattsun shrugged, sliding his palms over his pants. “I don’t know. I’m still learning.”

“Oh.” He ducked his head, dropping his forehead to his knees. That length of time did not bode well for him, he thought. Would Mattsun want to take the time to work with him? He wasn’t sure he’d be a good student. Mattsun was—how old? Twenty-seven? Eight? He’d been doing this for a _decade_ and he was still learning things? Makki wondered if he should be impressed or...

“Here, why don’t we start with this,” Mattsun said, standing and moving back to his trunk. “I was just going to get out some papers and go through the list but—shit, where is…” He pulled out several books and came back, dropping them between them as he settled in opposite Makki on the couch.

Makki picked up the topmost book, very clearly a simple book that could be found at any larger bookstore with a decent adult section. BDSM 101, in a nutshell. It had an artful picture of a coil of soft-looking rope decorating the cover. He flipped it open and thumbed through the well-read pages. It had scribbles in the margins and several bookmarks of fading old receipt paper.

“Read that,” Mattsun said, poking the top of the book and then reordering the other books in the pile. “Then this one, and then the bottom one. Use the notebook to write down any thoughts you have, or questions, or fill out the worksheets inside and when you’re done we can come back to this.” He watched Makki flipping through the book, looking at the pictures, and said more gently, “We still need to talk about everything else, but maybe this will be easier.”

“Did you ever date girls?” Makki asked suddenly, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that Mattsun wouldn’t let his past go. He held up the book to show a picture of a girl’s breasts tied with bits of rope. “Have you done this?”

Mattsun grinned back at him, and Makki recognized it as the smile he had when he got when he was proud of himself. “Yes, I’ve done that. On a very voluptuous woman, actually.” He swallowed a laugh at Makki’s sudden scowl. “Practice, that was all. It was a teaching experience for another girl. But no, to answer your other question, while I have played with some women for one reason or another, I haven’t dated any. Kissed a few in high school, but when the soccer players would use the bottoms of their uniforms to wipe their faces and showed that little bit of skin it made me more aroused than the entire half-naked squad of cheerleaders, and I figured out pretty quickly that I was gay.”

Makki smiled at the thought. “I played soccer.”

“You still have your uniform?” Mattsun wiggled his eyebrows. “We can do some role-play.”

Makki dissolved into giggles. “I don’t know if it even fits me. I’ve gotten a little taller.”

“Even better,” Mattsun said, grinning. “Show that little bit of skin that I like so much.” They both laughed, grateful to have been distracted for a moment. Then Mattsun took the book from him and scooted closer, opening it to a page that he found by muscle memory. “Since no two relationships are alike, it’s hard to have a _Step One, Step Two_ approach, but I’ve always said that knowledge is the first step. So here we have something like a little dictionary. Learn these words and their meanings. And then,”—he skimmed the book, opening it to other pages that had creased the spine and opened easily—“learn the ins and outs of consent, and the ideas of SSC. _Safe, Sane, and Consensual._ ” He glanced up to make sure he had Makki’s attention. “I know you said you’ve done this lifestyle—”

Makki interrupted, “Let’s just work under the assumption that I don’t know anything.” He frowned, rubbing the heel of his hand over his cheek. “Anything that… my ex did was probably wrong, anyway.”

Mattsun looked at him for a long moment, brows pulled together in worry. He spoke slowly, his voice even, “I’m going to assume… and you don’t have to say anything… but from what I’ve gathered, the way that your last relationship ended wasn’t very pleasant.”

Makki only watched him, careful to keep his thoughts hidden from his face. _Not pleasant_ could be used to describe the end of his relationship with Aaron, he supposed, if one wanted to be nice about it. It could be used to describe the rest of their time together, too, if one really wanted to read into it.

“A lot of people mistake this lifestyle as another form of abuse,” Mattsun said, absentmindedly scratching his nail down the sides of the pages. “There are so many people who use it that way and it’s not healthy. It’s dangerous. But… I’m sure you know that.” He reached out a hand and laid it over Makki’s knee. “And I’m sorry that you had to endure that.”

He didn’t respond, only looked away, the muscles of his body tense and nervous.

“Have you talked to anyone about it?”

“No.” Makki pulled away when Mattsun’s fingers tightened on his leg. “Well, yes. But no. I had a therapist back home—in Jersey—but they weren’t very open-minded. He didn’t understand… and so I never really talked about…” He stabbed the corner of his mouth with his teeth, grinding down out of habit. “It just seemed like anytime I talked about this stuff he started _judging_ me and I could see in his eyes that he thought it was my fault, too. Just like— _He_ told me it was my fault that he hurt me.” The therapist in question had been a useless endeavor that his mother had insisted he go to. His office had been littered with books and pamphlets on codependence and domestic violence and _the journey of self-healing_.

“Ah.” Mattsun closed the book and handed it back. He looked like he wanted to talk about the bombshell Makki had just dropped, but instead, he said, “If you’d like, I can ask Elle or someone that might know to point you in the direction of someone that you can talk to that won’t judge you.”

“Been there, tried that. It didn’t work.”

“I’m assuming you saw someone who wasn’t in our lifestyle. What I’m saying is we have what some people call _Kink Aware Professionals_. They’re either in the lifestyle themselves or they know enough about it to be able to listen and understand and counsel you in an appropriate manner.”

“I don’t think it will help if I can’t talk about it anyway.” If he couldn’t even _think_ about the things in his past, how the hell could he hope to explain them to someone else?

“That would be the point—to ease yourself into being able to talk about it. To … come to terms with it and be able to talk about it without so much pain.” He shrugged, holding his hands up. “It’s just a thought. As I said, you don’t have to tell me… I understand that it’s painful for you. But I do need to know what might”—his hands fluttered, searching for the right word—“trigger you or upset you, especially if we’re in the middle of a scene or doing something. I _have_ to know those things. Is that something we can work on, Makki?”

Makki pulled the book up to his face so he could flip through the pages and consider. He hated that he still couldn’t think about the years with him. How, at first, it was nice; Aaron had been kind and bashful, sweetly attentive and open about everything. He’d gone to watch Makki’s various sporting events and cheered himself hoarse on the sidelines. Makki had gone to all the debates and choir performances that Aaron had and finding him after each of them to give him a congratulatory kiss. How, as soon as they’d left high school, they’d found an apartment together and they’d slowly fallen into a dark, broken husk of their old relationship. It had been such a slow process that Makki hadn’t noticed at first just how full of trepidation and fear he was all the time. By the time he realized it, he was so tangled in the messy snares of the relationship that he was unsure of how to get out.

When he’d finally figured it out, it had been too late. The damage had been done—in every way conceivable. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and murmured, “I can try.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Makki picked up the other books and flipped the second one over to glance over the back cover. “This looks like an essay.”

“It doesn’t have as many pictures,” Mattsun agreed with a chuckle, “but it’s just as informative. Each of these books has some overlap, but they’re all told a little differently. I know it seems like a lot but I’d really like you to work your way through these in, shall we say, three weeks? Along with your notes, of course. And when you’re done, it would be interesting to me to ask you why you think I assigned this project to you. To see what you’ve learned from the readings.”

Makki raised his eyebrows, letting himself smile. “Like homework?”

“Precisely that.”

“Man, you know, I didn’t go to college for a reason. I hate homework.”

Mattsun raised one hand in a shrug, his smile was a playful challenge. “It’s up to you whether you do it or not. But I’d really _prefer_ if you did it.” It wasn’t an order like it could be. It was Mattsun _asking_ him to do this. To put work into their budding relationship. Asking if he thought their relationship would or could be worth the work that was required. It wasn’t _just_ the notes, though. It was the work that would come after. Learning about each other. Learning to trust each other. It was a lot of work, even in a vanilla relationship, to find out how each person was compatible and incompatible and how they fit into each other's lives. Makki could only imagine how much _more_ work it would be for what they wanted to do. Especially with how fucked up he was.

He took a deep breath, picking up the books and the notebook and stacking them. “Okay. Three weeks?”

“I wouldn’t object if you had it done sooner. But I won’t be angry if you take longer, as long as you try, and you let me know.”

“Okay,” Makki said. “I can do that.”

Mattsun smiled at him, a warm, proud smile that made tiny balls of light bloom in Makki’s belly. He stood, taking the books from Makki and tucking them under his arm so he could hold out his hand. “Now, do you want to go and watch that dinosaur movie?”

“Will we actually watch it this time?”

Mattsun winked at him. “Let’s find out.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:   
> ** for eating disorder mentions  
> || for details of past abuse (Honestly, you could skip these paragraphs and I'll put an extremely simplified, clean version at the end notes.)
> 
> Also, they really get into the meat of the lifestyle and talking about BDSM and training and kinks.

Makki sat curled over the pile of books on his bed. He’d read through the first book and started on the second. The first was mostly an instruction manual in all things _rope_ and getting familiar with various forms of equipment. It was interesting, but he wasn’t sure why Mattsun wanted him to read that one—he wasn’t the one who had to know how to do that stuff. He picked up the second one, about to start reading, but suddenly stopped when an idea struck him. He spent longer than he’d like to admit arranging them so that they were all in view along with a vaguely sexual portion of his bare thighs, then snapped a picture (spent several long minutes _editing_ it to make it look prettier in the admittedly harsh light of his flamingo that now hung in the window) and sent it along to Mattsun in a text that said — _look what im doing!_

He waited for a few moments, but then caught himself staring at his phone and set it down so that he could try and read the books. He’d sectioned off the notebook with several little bookmarks he’d made, remembering what Mattsun had told him to write down his thoughts and recalling his note-taking skills from classes in high school. _Overall Notes, Notes for Book 1, Book 2, Book 3, Quizzes, Questions, Misc_. It was a good start, and he’d filled out several pages of notes from the first book. He hadn’t written: _why do i have to learn this?_ in the margins, but he thought it might have been obvious from his notes.

His phone buzzed and he snatched it up to see a reply from Mattsun — _v proud of u ;)_

Makki’s chest bloomed with pride and he shivered with giddiness. — _do i get a prize?_

_— knowledge is its own reward_

_— boooooooooooooooooo D:_

_— dnt be a brat_

_— i was hoping id get som sort of sexy prize. this, maybe?_ He attached a picture of one of the chapter titles: _All Things Anal._

It took a few minutes, but then Mattsun sent back a picture of a pile of colorful and specifically shaped insertables with the caption — _i’ve got all things anal, too_

Makki shrieked with a giggle and flopped over onto his side, clutching his phone close so he could see the picture better. He studied it, grinning, his nose practically touching his screen. Then he gasped in delighted horror. — _IS THAT A BANANA_

— _oh srry. thats a vibrator. wrong drawer_

Makki wheezed with laughter, curling up with his phone. _— how many drawers do u have?_

_— ive got more than just drawers_

— _… can i see?_

_— after you’ve done your homework._

_— promise?_

_— absolutely. give u the full tour once youve earned it._

He stared at the screen, his stomach tingling with desire and curiosity. He knew that Mattsun would have his own toys and equipment… but he hadn’t actually considered it in detail. The picture he’d sent had—he had to count again, excluding the _actual banana shaped_ vibrator—been twenty-three things that he could stick up his ass. His belly quivered… excitement. What _else_ was in the drawer? Drawer _s—_ plural. What else was filled with fun sex toys, and what were they? Laying there, he spent a few minutes trying to imagine those things being used on him, and when his phone buzzed in his hand he actually jumped in surprise, feeling like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie drawer.

It was Mattsun — _you are reading, aren’t you?_

Makki chewed his lip, grinning, rolling onto his back and wondering what Mattsun would do if he said no. If he said yes? If he fibbed… just a little. — _… yes._

— _u know… when you lie like that I wonder what I should do with you._

— _anythn u want,_ He paused for a moment, unable to stop smiling, a little exhilarated as he finished, _Sir._

Mattsun didn’t answer for so long Makki thought that maybe he was mad. Makki, heart pattering with nerves, sent a picture of his notebook — _really back to reading now._

He set his phone aside, flipped it upside down so he wouldn’t see the screen, and set to reading—really, actually reading, pen in hand so that he could take appropriate notes like he was supposed to.

Two hours later he shoved all his books aside and spread himself out on his bed, letting out a loud groan when his neck protested being put upright. “Ah, fuck.” He rolled his head, leading to several satisfying pops in his neck. He only just now realized how hungry he was, and reached over to pick up his phone to find a single text waiting for him, sent only an hour before, and it made him forget all about his hunger.

— _you know, i really like a mouthy sub._ Attached was a picture of Mattsun that had clearly been taken with great care. Makki had only seen a handful of Mattsun’s professional work, and most of that had been full-body clothing or billboard-sized underwear shots for some ostentatious brand that cost forty-seven bucks each.

This was a picture _just for him_. If Makki had spent ten or fifteen minutes on his picture to Mattsun, Mattsun had spent twice as long on his. It was an extreme shot, all diagonals and angles, close up on his face—the tip of a leather riding crop pressed against his lips. It was all _mouth_ , and Makki couldn’t stop staring at his lips. He groaned aloud, the tips of his toes tingling, deep in his belly simmering, his mouth suddenly dry.

Food wasn’t very high on his list of priorities all of a sudden.

* * *

It took him almost a month to get through all three books, and he had felt bad asking for an extension on his time, but Mattsun had simply said _if that’s what you need_ and then took him out for dinner. It wasn’t the _reading_ that was hard, it was the myriad of quizzes, and the detailed thought that they required. Makki had originally been confused about how to answer them, but Mattsun had told him to answer the questions to the best of his ability, and that no matter what he said there were no wrong answers—except for the ones that were testing his knowledge. Some of the quizzes were simply that—reading comprehension and vocabulary. Just like school. He’d asked Mattsun if he could check his answers and was told that he could… but when he flipped to the back of the book he found that all the answers had been torn out. He’d apparently had such a pout on his face when he saw this that Mattsun had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

Other quizzes were more along the lines of what he would like to do if given a day off to spend with his Top. (Each book used different terminology, but it did help him become familiar with all the variations. He found he rather liked Sir, though. Simple, and it fit Mattsun’s personality best.) Or what things he liked best about certain (and specific) types of sex ( _On a scale of 1 to 10 I like receiving oral sex _____. I prefer to be on top Y/N? My preferred sex position is: a) doggy style, b) face to face c) acrobatic, get through as many as possible!, d) wherever Master positions me.)._ Or how certain things like _punishment_ or _edge-play_ made him feel. Some were simply fill in the blank: _I really like _____ during sex. Please don’t touch my _____._ And some questions were what anyone could ask: what was his favorite food; any prescription medication; did he drink alcohol, and, if so, how much; had he had any major surgery in the last year?

He’d answered everything as best he could, even the ones that were hard for him, asking about any injury or trauma he’d had. For those, he simply put _in person_ because he absolutely would not write down the memories that haunted him. He’d seen the therapist several times since Mattsun had given him the number from a friend of his (the very day after he’d suggested it), and it had been freeing to find someone that didn’t look down on him or judge him when he mentioned how he wanted to be a submissive because it felt _right_ to give himself to someone.

|| Their fourth meeting had been intense because Makki had been coming off a particularly bad night, having nightmares all night and having to take his meds in order to ease the ache in his shoulder. The therapist, Dave, had asked if Makki would share what the nightmares were… and so Makki had told him everything. It had all come pouring out of him in a long-winded, tear-filled rush. Thank God his sessions were long or else he’d not have had the time. He’d told him about how they’d met, and their shitty little one-bedroom apartment with the microwave that was liable to catch fire at any moment, the first time Aaron had spanked him during sex and how he’d liked it, and then when Aaron had brought home a huge bag filled with other things like handcuffs, canes, and blindfolds. It had been fine for a while, but eventually, Makki wanted to slow down, Aaron was moving too quickly and Makki didn’t trust him to stop when he told him to. He didn’t want to be immobile when Aaron was in control… and the times that he was, and he had cried his safe word again and again, only to be ignored.

|| Then came the fear. And the shame. And the helplessness. And the night that Aaron had threatened in a drunken rage to blind him because he thought that Makki had been trying to give coy looks to the cute waiter that had been at the restaurant they’d had dinner at. Makki had run away, but no one else knew of how bad their relationship was, or what lifestyle they’d been doing (erroneously, Makki knew now) and so he’d not known where to go. He’d gone to a local park and slept in the little tunnel, hoping that maybe Aaron would forget about everything in the morning except his hangover.

|| He hadn’t. As soon as Makki had stepped through the door Aaron had hit him so hard he’d crumpled, smacking his head on the floor and blacking out. When Makki had nightmares, it was always this. When he’d woken up he couldn’t see, and had thought for a panicked moment that Aaron _had_ blinded him… but then the tape had tugged on his eyelashes, on his eyebrows, on his _skin_ , and he thought that maybe he still had eyes. He wouldn’t know for three days, however. Aaron had strung him up by his hands, and he only had a small stool to balance on, a cold metal pole between his hands. He screamed himself hoarse within the first few hours. The tears had begun to sting the tacky tape, burning the longer they sat. His hands were numb. His feet hurt. He really wanted to brush his teeth. He struggled to yank the ropes off—real rope, the kind that burned and burrowed into his skin until it was slick with blood—but Aaron had learned new types of knots that wouldn’t allow him free. He struggled so hard that he stumbled, lost his footing, and his perch toppled to the floor, out of reach. He’d hung there, clinging to the pole with all he had for hours—until his muscles were past the point of shaking and the only thing that held him up was fear. Eventually, that faded, and his muscles had given up, forcing him to dangle, barely able to feel the floor under his toes.

|| He’d spent time like that—a long time, maybe. Maybe no time at all. Maybe hours. By that point, he had no concept of time, really. His brain, having been in darkness too long, had begun making up kaleidoscopes of color for him to look at, and he lost himself in the starbursts and whorls. At some point he’d gained a burst of energy—a car passing by, the sound of someone laughing, _something_ , and he’d yanked at his bonds. Everything in him was past pain. It was all numb. What had saved him was his own blood soaking the rope and allowing first his right hand to slip free, and then several hours later (he’d imagined it was several hours only because his shoulder had begun to _scream_ at him, starting slow and steady and becoming the only thing that he could think of) he’d fallen straight to the floor once his left hand had slipped free of the restraints. He couldn’t even move for a while—simply laying in shock, his body and brain trying to reorient himself with the fact that he wasn’t suspended anymore.

|| After he could figure out how to sit up again, he remembered that his hands were his own and he managed to find his face—ripping and clawing the tape off. His eyelashes and chunks of brows came with it, and a stream of blood poured down his face from his cheek where a chunk of skin ripped off—it would end up the only outward physical scar from that experience. He’d stumbled to his feet—shoulder still screaming, cradling his arm against his chest as he ran out. He bashed into walls and corners and ran with blood and tears coursing down his face until he’d stumbled outside, blinded by the blistering sun and the burned yellow of the summer grass. He’d had no idea where he was and had stumbled through an empty suburban construction site and down the highway until he’d found a gas station and begged the cashier the use of her phone.

Dave had let him talk, and they’d spent the remaining session on breathing exercises to pull him back from his sudden panic attack once he _realized_ he’d said it all aloud.

Makki stopped outside the brownstone, pressing a hand to his cheek again at the memory of the appointment. He knew he’d probably tell Mattsun what had happened, but he didn’t think it would be so hard this time, not now that he’d said it aloud once. He’d never even told Nora the whole story. He knocked on the door, cradling his books under his arm, and waited… waited… waited…

He knew Mattsun was home. He’d told Makki to come over. Maybe he was upstairs? Makki knocked louder. Still no answer. When he tried the door it opened, so he pushed inside and carefully picked his way into the living room. Akaashi sat with a mug of something steaming in hand—probably tea—and was scrolling through his phone looking bored. He looked up when Makki walked in and tugged one of the earbuds out of his ear.

“Oh, hey,” he said, not sounding surprised that Makki had just walked in. “Here for Mattsun?”

Makki nodded, but even as he was about to speak he heard Mattsun’s voice from the third floor, shouting in anger, “Of course I fucking know that, Aito! You’re not dad, you don’t get to treat me like the fucking— No. No! Shut the fuck up. I’m not— Yeah, I _know_ she hates me. I’m the goddamn black sheep— No I’m not going to _spend time with her_!”

Makki glanced up at the ceiling then stared at Akaashi with raised eyebrows.

Akaashi explained, “His brother. They don’t get along. I think the argument this time is that he didn’t come to Christmas and his bitchy aunt … well, _bitched_ about it. His mom cried or something. I don’t know. Same stuff it always is, though.”

“Oh…” Makki shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to interrupt… but it had been a long time since he and Akaashi had spent any time together. Christmas seemed a far-fetched memory. Eventually, he sat on the couch, setting his books down… and then flipping them over so the notebook was on top and the nature of the books was a little more hidden.

Akaashi raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, instead scrolling through his phone. He was on Instagram looking at pictures of tiny birds.

Makki drummed his fingers on his legs. Mattsun’s voice still came from above them, muffled now but just as loud. He hesitated, but then said, “So, does this usually take long?”

Akaashi didn’t even look up. “Sometimes. Once it was for, like, four hours.”

“Oh.” He slumped into the couch, nervous. He didn’t like thinking of Mattsun upset and wanted to go up and comfort him.

After another long, uncomfortable silence Akaashi turned to him and said, “Want to watch a movie?”

Makki beamed, relieved. Movies were one thing he knew all about. “Sure!”

“I’m sure you have a better movie in mind then I do,” he said, smiling.

He thought for a moment, racking his brain, and eventually said, “Have you seen _Harvey_?”

“No, but I’ve heard of it.” He frowned in thought. “Oh, wait, your movies are all upstairs in Mattsun’s room.”

“That’s ok! You’ve got one of those smart TV’s, right? I can just sign into my Amazon stuff. I’ve got tons of movies on there.”

Akaashi passed him the remote and Makki spent several agonizing minutes entering his email and password (embarrassing things Nora had help him set up with he was younger that he _still_ hadn’t changed) and then scrolled through the movies until he found it. They sat together while the opening credits rolled—Makki fully attentive because even though he’d seen this movie several times he still loved it; Akaashi only halfway paying attention to his phone. The opening scene wasn’t even over when Makki suddenly shouted, “Popcorn!” so loudly that Akaashi jumped and spilled tea all over his hand.

He scowled at the mess over his fingers and leggings and said, “There’s some in the kitchen, I think. Mattsun used to like making it at midnight.”

“Oh, shit,” Makki said, grabbing for a discarded pile of napkins leftover from the last meal and dabbing at his legs and the couch. “I’m sorry!”

Akaashi stood, waving him away. “It’s ok, I needed to do laundry anyway.” He waved a hand as he went into the kitchen and Makki followed him. “It’s up in those cabinets, I think.” He began rummaging through the tea cabinet and setting his electric kettle on to boil fresh water. Makki searched through several cabinets until he found a little aluminum skillet that said _Jiffy Pop_ on the top.

“This?”

“Looks like popcorn to me.”

Makki frowned at it, a little confused and a little excited. He’d never used this kind and had to read the instructions, and then eyed the old stove warily. “Does that work?”

Akaashi shrugged. “Maybe. Try it and see.”

“What, so you can blame me if the place burns down?”

Akaashi only grinned at him, so Makki reached over and tentatively turned the dial and they both waited, staring at the rings on the top, until they began to heat up. Akaashi glanced around as if searching for fire leaping out of the walls, then laughed uproariously. “Ha! Guess it works, then.” He looked pleased as punch.

He made his tea while Makki made the popcorn, transfixed as the coil of foil on top of the little skillet ballooned out and out and _out_ like some bulbous mushroom. He smirked at Akaashi and pointed at the thing. “Looks like a mushroom.”

With a wicked grin, Akaashi retorted, “It looks like an STD.”

Makki snickered and jabbed a finger into the top of the foil to open it. “Gross, dude! Bowl?”

“Uh.” Akaashi’s eyes jumped from cabinet to cabinet and then he pointed to the sink. “I think it’s dirty.”

“You’ve only got one bowl?”

“Only one big one. We had two but Mattsun dropped his box of dishes and broke most of them. A lot of our dishes and cups have chips in them, too.”

Makki frowned—he didn’t want to wash the bowl, partially because it looked like it needed heavy sanitation, and also because he wanted to get back to the movie. He could hear how much they’d missed already—Elwood and Harvey were already at the bar. They’d missed the introduction of a few characters already. He pawed through a cabinet where he remembered two smaller bowls and divided the popcorn between them, then they went back into the living room. Once settled, Makki pushed one of the bowls towards Akaashi.

**He’d noticed that he’d rarely seen Akaashi actually _eat_ anything, and wondered if he was just shy with his food or if he had some other problem. Maybe he was on a special diet? Maybe he was gluten intolerant? Something else that made it hard for him to find food he could eat at any of the restaurants they went to? He watched as Akaashi studied the popcorn as if it might eat him, then tentatively reached out for a single kernel.

“Are you going to start it over?” Akaashi asked, glancing up and catching Makki watching him.

“O-oh. Yeah, sure.”

**He made it a point to not look at Akaashi… but still saw how slowly he ate the piece of popcorn, and then rubbed his fingers along the thigh of his leggings. Maybe he just didn’t like greasy foods? Makki almost said that he thought he’d seen a pair of chopsticks laying around in the kitchen drawers and would get them for him… but decided against it.

About halfway through the second watch of the movie—everyone was at the bar, now, Elwood introducing the “six foot three and a half inches” tall invisible rabbit to anyone he met, most people assumed him psychotic—Mattsun came stomping down the stairs, looking like an angry bull, but pausing on the bottom of the stairs when he saw them in the living room. “Makki. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Makki smiled up at him. “It’s ok, we’ve been watching _Harvey_.”

He raised his eyes to the screen, uncomprehending at what was going on in the movie. “I’ve not seen it.”

Akaashi said, “We’re only halfway through, we could start it over.” He sounded sarcastic, but he did pick up the remote and pause it, his finger hovering over the rewind button.

Mattsun looked like he didn’t want to, but he looked down at Makki and something shifted behind his eyes—he looked like he was placing his more nettling emotions in a box somewhere down inside him before he made to sit down, but leaping away when both Akaashi and Makki shouted, “No!” at the same time.

They glanced at each other and both burst into laughter as Mattsun glowered at them. “ _What_?”

Akaashi said, “Harvey, do you think you could sit on the armchair over there?”

They both pretended to watch the giant rabbit-man go and sit on the armchair while Mattsun scowled at them like they were lunatics. “Maybe I don’t want to watch this, you two have lost your minds.”

Makki grinned and scooted over to sit beside Akaashi, patting the couch on his other side for Mattsun to sit. “We couldn’t let you sit on him.”

Mattsun shook his head at them but settled in as the movie started over for the third time. It was only a few minutes in when Akaashi murmured, “ _Oh,_ you’re warm,” and wiggled closer to Makki, tucking himself against his body, then grinning when Makki raised his arm and dropped it around his shoulders.

“You’re in a sweater and— are those crochet tights? How are you cold?”

Akaashi tucked his feet up under him and laid his head against Makki’s chest. “I’m like a lizard. Cold-blooded.”

“That means they’re whatever temperature their surroundings are,” Mattsun pointed out.

Makki shushed him and tightened his arm around Akaashi. “I’m happy to share my warmth with you.” Mattsun only grunted in response, taking Makki’s other hand and holding it between his own. All settled, they watched the movie _again_ with no interruptions this time, finally making it to the end credits, but when Makki turned to Akaashi to ask him what he thought, he found him quietly sleeping. When he turned to point this out to Mattsun, he saw that _he_ was asleep, too. Makki laughed to himself, trying not to jostle them as he raised his phone and took a selfie where each of them lay on one of his shoulders, then picking up the remote to pick a new movie while he waited for them to wake up.

* * *

Mattsun awoke to a crick in his neck and someone shaking his shoulder.

“Mattsun,” Akaashi whispered, and when he managed to open his eyes he found him leaning over him. “Makki’s _out_.”

He looked over, still a little groggy from his impromptu nap. Makki had somehow ended up slumped in the middle of the couch, head tipped back and looking like _his_ neck was going to hurt when he woke up, too. “Oh, damn.”

Akaashi grimaced. “We missed the movie again.”

“Yeah…”

“Guess we’ll have to have a cinema party to make it up to him.”

“And we need to make sure to get a good night’s sleep beforehand,” Mattsun agreed. “You’re going up?”

“No,” Akaashi moved away, and Mattsun saw that he was dressed in his bar clothes—all black, kind of slinky, and easy to disguise spilled beer. “I’m _really_ late for work—like _two hours_. Jeremy’s going to kill me.”

“Go on,” Mattsun said, waving his hand.

Akaashi rushed towards the door, and Mattsun barely caught his hurried “Bye!” as the door closed.

He sighed, looking over at Makki and wondering how best to wake him. Eventually, he settled on simply reaching a hand under his head and sitting him up a little. “Makki,” he said gently, coaxing him awake. “Hey, let’s go to bed.”

Makki mumbled a little in his sleep and Mattsun felt like shit for waking him, but absolutely did not want him to be sore in the morning. It took several minutes of gentle prodding to get him to open his eyes, and when he did he looked a little lost. “Mhm… wh— Oh. Akaashi…” His eyes flicked over, and then up to the screen. “The movie.”

Mattsun touched his cheek and smiled. “We fell asleep.”

“Yeah…” He still seemed a little out of it and leaned over so that Mattsun could wrap his arms around his shoulders. “I got a picture.”

Mattsun smiled into his hair, letting Makki snuggle down against his chest. “You didn’t.”

“Mhm-hmm. Did so.” His shoulders shook with a deep-seated yawn that ended in the tiniest, cutest sound Mattsun had heard in his entire fucking life. “Wow, what time is it?”

Mattsun tapped his phone screen. “Nine-ish.”

“Ugh…” Makki sat up, rubbing his eye. “Well, I think we slept for a few hours. We’ll be up forever.”

“We missed dinner.”

Makki groaned, pressing his hands over his face. “Shit. Want to order pizza?”

They ordered pizza, squabbling for ten minutes over toppings before settling on an all-veggie selection. After Mattsun had ordered they took the books and Makki’s notebook up to the reading room where Mattsun smiled as he flipped through the notebook. Makki squirmed with pride as he watched Mattsun read over his answers, checking them against the correct ones. Makki had always been a good test taker.

“You did very well,” Mattsun told him, tapping his paper. “You got them all correct.”

“I _did_ actually read them, you know.”

“I see that.” Mattsun flipped through some of his other notes. “Any pressing questions, or would you rather wait till after we eat?”

Makki shrugged. “Whatever you think is best.”

“After dinner, then.” Mattsun smiled at him. “Okay, so, while I read this I want you to fill out”—he picked up a folder and slid out a small packet of papers—“this.”

“What is it?” Makki took the papers and flipped them around so he could see, and blinked at the title: _Yes, No, Maybe — A Interest Check_. The paper had several columns, one with a list of things, and checkboxes for _Yes, No,_ and _Maybe_ , and then a section for _Fantasy_ or _Real_ _Life_ , and a long box for comments. It was over six pages long! “Shit,” Makki declared, flipping the pages. “This is thorough.”

“Better to be thorough than miss something and regret it later,” Mattsun said, sounding like a line he’d said before as he read one of the pages of Makki’s notes carefully. “Do you need a pen?”

“Uh,” Makki cast about, searching, and saw a cup of writing utensils on the bookshelf. “No, I see some.” He got up and retrieved one of the pencils before settling back down beside Mattsun, rather closer than before, and was pleased when Mattsun reached a hand out and laid it over his thigh. Deciding to read through the list before he began to fill it out, he skimmed the papers, blinking at some of the things— _manicures, cock spanking_ (painful! but maybe?), _shaving (receiving for pleasure), standing in the corner_ —and unsure how exactly he felt about them. He was willing to put Maybe on … most things, with the addition of _just once to try it, and then talk about it_.

Some of them were what he expected: _spanking, cuffs, kneeling, massages, anal play, oral, over-the-knee spanking,_ etc, etc. The list was _detailed_ and _extensive_ , and at the end was a big blank box with _Suggestions_ and a larger box labeled _Aftercare._ Some things he immediately marked a quick and decided _No_ on: _abrasions, auctioned off, bestiality, scat and urine play, catheters, cells/closets (locked inside),_ and a handful of other things that involved sharing himself or Mattsun with others or excessively violent fantasy role-playing.The _Yes_ list made him tingle a little: _biting_ , _anal sex, corsets, oral sex (giving) (and receiving),_ and _phone sex._ Fun things.

When he was done with the initial read-through he looked up, and let himself smile when he saw Mattsun watching him. “Yes?”

“I like watching you.”

He felt himself blush and tapped his pencil on his paper. “Some of the things on this are…”

“Extreme, yes.”

“Have you… done everything on this list?” The idea that Mattsun would have done some of the more violent things scared him a little.

Mattsun shook his head. “No, of course not. It’s just a rather extensive list that I wrote up. Like I said, it’s best to be thorough.” He poked the paper. “Once you’re through filling yours out I’ll show you mine.”

“You have one, too?”

“Of course,” Mattsun said simply. “I’ve got things I don’t like to do, either.”

“Like what?” Makki asked, wondering if they wouldn’t want to do the same things. Or, worse, if Mattsun wanted to do something that he didn’t. Would Mattsun do it _anyway_?

“Finish your list and then we’ll swap, pet.”

Makki’s lips spread in a gentle smile. “Pet?”

“It slipped out,” Mattsun said, shrugging one shoulder and grinning, a little sheepish. He turned his attention back to the notebook. “Where did you write your safe words?”

Makki leaned over, shoulders pressing, arms touching, and flipped the notebook to a specific page where he’d filled out a basic contract that had been in the book.

“Ah, good.” Mattsun read them, and then glanced over the non-verbal safe word gestures that Makki had indicated (in case he was ever unable to speak). “We’ll fill out an official contract once we’re done with the list.”

“You really do things all official, don’t you?” Makki asked, settling against him when Mattsun didn’t object.

“Let’s just say that communication is one of my kinks. This kind, anyway.” He leaned his head on Makki’s, still flipping through the notebook. “I’ve got to get better at the normal emotional kind, though.”

“Me too.”

“Have you been tested for STD’s recently?”

Makki grimaced at the memory that phrase brought up. “Not for two years, but I haven’t slept with anyone, and last time I checked I was clean.”

“Do you think,” he was still reading as he spoke, and Makki wondered if he was actually reading or just didn’t want to look at him, “you could provide me with a copy of your medical records? I’ve got a copy of mine ready for you, too.”

“I—” Makki stammered, a little uneasy. While he was all for safe sex, he wasn’t sure he wanted to call his old doctors and have them fax his records over, especially if they asked _why_ or worse, if they would only send it to other doctors. He could hardly explain that he wanted it for a BDSM contract—could he?

Mattsun looked over at him, frowning. “I’m sorry, Makki, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you say you’ve been tested and were negative, then I’ll believe you.”

He had been tested for all manner of STD’s during his hospital stay after the kidnapping. He had insisted, especially after he found out that he’d been knocked out for at least half a day—anything could have happened in his hours of darkness. And he wasn’t all together sure that Aaron had never cheated on him. “I’m squeaky clean,” he said. And then, grudgingly, “Physically, anyway.”

Slowly, Mattsun lowered the notebook and watched Makki’s face, studying him. “Do you want to talk about that?”

He ducked his head, staring at the paper and slowly filling in one of the boxes he’d marked _No_ solid with the pencil. “Did you… do you know Dave? That therapist.”

“I know him,” Mattsun said. “I hadn’t known his day-job, actually. And no, I haven’t talked to him if that’s what you’re thinking.” He was quiet for a moment, reaching out a hand and stroking his knuckles over Makki’s arm. “And even if I had, he wouldn’t tell me anything about your sessions. Especially if we decide we’re moving on with this relationship. Doctor/patient confidentiality, for one thing. Also, you need somewhere to go to, someone to talk to, that isn’t me if you’re unhappy with me.” He paused, and then said quickly, “Of course, I’d want for you to tell me if you’re unhappy. But I also want you to have somewhere to go… say, if you just need to work out some things, or if we get into an argument or anything like that. Maybe you’ll want to talk something out with someone else before you talk to me about it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that.” He pressed his mouth together, wondering how he could start to explain... Finally, he just let out a sigh that he felt like he’d been holding for years. Beside him, he felt Mattsun shifting to lean closer, his attention fully on him, his hand cradling Makki’s elbow. “So,” he began, “you know how... I’m sure you’ve noticed, I don’t really like ... darkness? Especially when I sleep.”

Mattsun nodded. “Your star light.”

“Yes—” He was cut off by the loud _bong-dong_ of the doorbell.

“Shit,” Mattsun muttered. He stood, glancing at the doorway. “I’ll get it. Do you want to go eat?” Makki only shook his head, tugging his knees up and hugging his arms around them. Mattsun studied him and then said, “I’ll be right back, okay?” He dashed out, and Makki curled up on the couch waiting for him to return. The idea of eating something while his insides were a riot of tangles and messes seemed impossible—he had to get the words out. He had to get them out _now_ before he choked on them. Leaping up, he began to pace. He’d realized that when he got anxious his body tried to shut down, curling in on himself, and sometimes he knew he even stopped breathing—so the act of moving, of walking, and being very specific with his breaths helped him not spiral inward and flail about in the darkness of his mind.

* * *

When Mattsun stepped back into the reading room, Makki was prowling across the room, back and forth, back and forth. He watched him make this small trek twice before he stepped forward and reached a hand out to touch his arm, worried with how manic he looked.

“Don’t—” Makki pulled his hand away, then looked up at him and took a gasping breath. “I mean— I just need to…” He flapped his hands, turning away to walk again, running his fingers over the edge of the bookshelf. “The lights.”

Mattsun stood beside the coffee table, keeping out of his way but close enough that he could catch him should he… fall? Need someone to hold him? Something. “Yes.”

“I don’t know… how to start.” His voice was shaking and his fingers trembled as he traced the arched curve of a tiny cat statue Akaashi had put on the shelf.

Mattsun suggested gently, “The beginning?”

“No.” He sighed, moving a little so he could brush his fingers over the spines of books. “That might be too much. But… I can, at least I think I can, tell you about… when it started to go badly.” He turned away from Mattsun, his back to him, bowing his head and clutching at the edge of the bookshelf. “His… his name was Aaron.”

Over the next hour, in starts and stops, sometimes sitting on the couch, sometimes wandering around the room in an agitated state, Makki told his story. When he cried, Mattsun held him. When he seemed at a loss, Mattsun encouraged him, whispering that he was safe. When he backed away, Mattsun let him go. He showed Mattsun the tiny, pale scars littered across his thighs and calves that Mattsun had thought were from his days playing sports. He allowed Mattsun to touch the small indentation of skin on his cheekbone just under his eye, and then kiss each of his eyelids when he began to cry again, explaining what had done it.

He told of his recovery—surgery to fix the torn muscles in his shoulder, the days in the hospital where he didn’t sleep due to fear, the manhunt for Aaron after Makki had told the police, and how he’d barely been able to function until he’d been caught. He’d spent weeks and weeks back in his childhood bedroom, unable to lay flat because of his injury, forced to endure police questions and several months into his recovery to tell his story at the trial that sent Aaron Richardson to jail. He’d spent the year and a half afterward trying to learn how to be himself again, build a better version of himself that was more like who he was before.

“I’m just,” he said, streams of tears spilling down his cheeks again, “scared. And I’m … I’m scared that I’ll _always_ be afraid of him.”

Mattsun had his arm around him, his hand on his head and letting him lean against his chest. As Makki had told him what he’d endured his rage had come boiling to the surface, but he knew that his emotions were not important now and that even if this person had not been in jail, Mattsun wouldn’t have been able to do anything that would make Makki feel better in the long run. He could tell that, even through all the bad things that had happened, Makki _had_ loved the man once, a long time ago, and that _that_ was what hurt him most—that maybe in some small corner of his heart he _still_ loved him. “Maybe,” he said softly, “but you don’t have to give in to that fear.”

Makki sniffed, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to resist it.”

“I just mean—” Mattsun stammered, frustrated. He wasn’t a therapist, he didn’t know how to comfort someone! If he couldn’t comfort small crying children who’d simply scraped a knee, he couldn’t— He let out a puff of air from his lungs, trying to find something to say that wasn’t _it’ll be okay_. “I don’t think you have to be afraid of him anymore, Makki, if I’m honest. Maybe the past you was, back when he was the only … source of … I don’t know— When he was the only thing you thought you could turn to. But he’s not now. He’s in jail—you’re not. You’ve got friends here. You’ve told me all about your sister and she seems like she’s there to help you, too. You’ve got me.” It felt like such a small thing in the face of the monstrosities that Makki had lived through. Humans, he thought, were often the worst monsters of all and left the most damage in their wake.

Makki turned his face into Mattsun’s shoulder. “I know.”

He tugged Makki against him, turning so he could wrap both his arms around him and tuck him safely into his embrace. “I need you to know that… you don’t have to be scared when you’re with me.”

“I— … I know.” Makki whispered.

“You don’t have to be scared _of me_.”

Makki was silent, leaning hard against him, rubbing his face on Mattsun’s shirt for comfort. “I’m not.”

_Later, maybe_ , he didn’t say, but Mattsun thought he felt it in the tentative whisper of his words. He knew that if they did this, if they decided to enter into this lifestyle whether just for sexual satisfaction or a full-time lifestyle… he would have to tread very carefully so as not to lose him.

“Uhm—” Makki murmured, hiding his face as he sat up, rubbing it with the collar of his shirt. “So was I— Did I do enough to get a tour?”

He was still upset, but Mattsun could tell that he didn’t want to think about his past anymore. Mattsun didn’t want the conversation to be over but could tell that Makki did, and thought that actions instead of words was the way to get Makki to trust and confide in him. “Yes, I think so. It’s all upstairs.” He gathered up the papers and Makki’s notebook and they went to his bedroom. “What would you like to see?”

Makki pursed his lips, glancing around the room. “Where do you keep your stuff?”

Grinning, Mattsun went to his closet—sizable, even though it was smaller than Akaashi’s—and pushed aside the hanging clothes to drag a large armoire into the room. If it didn’t have wheels he wouldn’t have been able to move it at all and _dreaded_ the day he moved because it really was quite cumbersome. Makki’s eyes were wide, and Mattsun smiled at him as he opened the doors on the front, then folded them even further open and displayed the multiple drawers, hooks, and cabinets. “Custom made,” he said upon seeing Makki’s wide-eyed stare.

“Holy _shit_.”

Mattsun’s smile only broadened. “You haven’t even seen the big chest with other clothes and harnesses and— well, come here, you’re welcome to look through this one to start with.”

Coming forward, Makki reached out a hesitant hand and ran his finger down the side of a long crop that hung on a hook on the side. “Is this the one you used in that picture?”

“Yes.” Mattsun touched the back of Makki’s hair, smiling when Makki blushed.

“I really liked that picture.”

He leaned down to kiss Makki’s shoulder, letting his voice drop a little. “I hoped you did.”

“Does… uhm— Does it hurt?”

“The crop?”

He could feel Makki’s nervousness in the set of his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Mhm… well,” Mattsun straightened, reaching over his shoulder and plucking it from the hook, “it can, of course. Everything in this drawer _can_ hurt. But it depends on how you use it.” He couldn’t help the broad smirk that spread on his face.

Makki’s eyes were trained on the broad tip of the crop. “Oh.”

“Here,” Mattsun held it out, handle first, and let him take it, then he began to unbuckle his pants and slip them off his legs. He kicked them away while Makki clutched at the crop, sliding his fingers over it and rubbing the tip of the leather. He held his hand out for it. “I’ll show you.”

“Why did you take your pants off?”

Mattsun flexed his fingers until Makki handed the crop over, and then smacked it into the side of his own thigh. It made a satisfying _fwap_ sound, and Mattsun’s skin flushed red immediately. He shrugged a little. “Yeah, that hurt. But it can also be very soft.” He reached over and let the tip slide over Makki’s arm, and was pleased when the hairs on it rose to attention. “See?”

He shivered and rubbed his arm vigorously with a little nervous chuckle. “Yeah. But—” His eyes dropped to the already fading mark on Mattsun’s thigh. “Could you do that to me, too? Just to show me?”

“If that’s what will make you comfortable,” Mattsun said. He watched as Makki dropped his pants and had to press his hand to his mouth to hide his laughter. “Oh my God, cute.”

“Shut up,” Makki snapped, flushing as pink as the flamingos on his briefs. He turned to bare the side of his leg and waved a hand. “Do it.”

Mattsun grinned at him for a moment, then crouched and wrapped his hand around the inside of Makki’s thigh to hold him still. He kissed his skin, and then laid the end of his crop flat on his thigh. He could feel Makki tensing under his touch, and spread his fingers wide to soothe him. The riding crop was one of his favorite tools with how versatile it could be. He tapped it against his skin, not gently, but not hard enough to hurt—just enough to sharpen the sensation of when he _did_ pop him. “Ready?”

Makki nodded, watching him with his lip sucked between his teeth. “Yeah.” He smacked Makki’s leg with the crop, still not as hard as he’d hit himself, but Makki still jumped. “Ooh!” He giggled, his cheeks flushed.

“Like it?” Mattsun smiled up at him.

He flushed deeper and nodded. “Yeah!”

“Well, that’s because I didn’t do it very hard.” He stood and replaced the crop in its proper place. “I mean—maybe you like things that _really_ hurt?” Makki only shrugged so he finished, “Guess we’ll find out, then.” He waved a hand towards the collection and Makki had a pleased little smile as he ran his fingers over the long leather strands of a flogger that hung so it didn’t get tangled.

He opened one of the drawers and giggled. “The banana!”

“Mhm-hmm, and a few others.” He watched as Makki poked through the two drawers with vibrators and anal toys, making note of the ones he picked up to examine closer, or the ones he had a particular smile over, or the ones he avoided.

“What’s this?”

“Ah…” Mattsun took the tool from him, a _J_ shaped silver instrument with a ball on the hooked end. He moved to stand behind Makki, leaning over him to kiss just under his ear. “It’s a for posture training.” He touched the top of Makki’s spine with his fingers and drug them along each vertebra to his butt. “This little bit”—he indicated the ball on the curve, unable to hide his smile. He slid the object down between Makki’s legs, letting him feel the smoothness of the stainless steel. With his other hand, he reached around and laid it over Makki’s chest, pulling him back so that Makki’s head dipped back, his breath a little heavier than before—“goes in your ass. And then we put a rope in the eye at the other end, tying your shoulders and throat into it so anytime you move _it_ moves. It’s a way for me to make sure you aren’t _slouching_.” It was one thing it could be used for, anyway.

Makki glanced up at him, his eyes a little darker, his pulse visible in the way his throat was exposed. “Sounds…” but he didn’t finish, instead leaning back into Mattsun’s body. Mattsun leaned his head down to kiss him for a moment before he pulled away, holding Makki by the shoulders while he reoriented himself.

“Are you done looking?”

“Oh, no,” Makki said immediately. Then: “If that’s alright?”

“Of course, I told you you could look through it all if you wanted to.” He replaced the instrument and closed the drawer. But when Makki opened another drawer, Mattsun reached in and plucked a roll of thick black tape out and promptly dropped it in the trash bin beside his dresser.

Makki frowned at it. “What … was that?” He sounded like he knew what it was.

“It’s not duct tape,” Mattsun promised him. “It’s bondage tape, though. It doesn’t stick to skin or hair—only to itself. But I still don’t want to use it on you. I don’t want you to even think that I would. So—away it goes.”

“Oh.” He eyed the trash bin warily before turning his attention purposely from it. “Thank you…” He seemed distant as he swirled his finger around the hoops and bits of leather in the drawer. “I haven’t seen this kind.”

Mattsun raised an eyebrow. “Leather cuffs?”

“Yeah. He always just…”

When he didn’t continue—and if he was honest, Mattsun didn’t want to know, it would only make him angry—he reached out and plucked a pair from the drawer. “Here, you can play with them. You won’t hurt them. Do you want me to show you?”

Makki tucked his hands against his chest and Mattsun smiled at him, then wrapped one of the cuffs around his own wrist.

“They’re padded on the inside, so it won’t leave marks or bruises or anything.” He flipped the strip of leather over and through a steel buckle, tightening it before tucking it into the safety hoops that would keep any bits from poking out. Then he stuck a finger in the o-ring and yanked hard on the cuff, showing how secure it was. “See? It doesn’t hurt at all. Here, you try.” He held out the other and turned his free wrist up to him.

Makki stared at him. “Put it on you?”

“Yes, of course.” He smiled at Makki’s puzzlement and explained, “I’ve used everything I own on myself at one point or another. Or had someone show me how it’s used. I have to know what things feel like if I’m going to use them on you to make you feel good.”

“Ohh… that’s— Oh.” Makki touched the inside of the cuff, the how soft and supple the leather was, then followed Mattsun’s instructions to install it around his wrist. “That’s an interesting viewpoint,” he said once he was finished, tugging on the o-ring just to make sure he’d done it right.

“What is?”

“Using the things yourself.”

Mattsun shrugged, opening a different drawer and pulling out a coil of deep purple rope (he had an entire rainbow of colors, plus black and white and silver—he liked variety) and began to effortlessly tie a complicated looking knot in one of the o-rings, and then the other, as he spoke, “When I was very young, very inexperienced, I had a guy ask me if I would spank him at this Play Party I was at. I realized as I was doing it, first with my hand, then with a paddle, and then with a crop—under the supervision of another Domme that I’d asked to help me to make sure I didn’t fuck up—I was _very_ new, mind you, and still scared of hurting someone in a way that wasn’t appropriate. Anyway, as I was doing it I realized that I’d never been spanked at all. My father hadn’t disciplined like that, and my mother was a silent, judgmental type of parent, so I’d never had that ingrained _do bad and you get the belt_ fear that a lot of kids I knew had. So, every time I’d get a new piece of equipment I’d go to someone I trusted and ask them if they’d use it on me. Not that I liked it—mostly I was just categorizing the way it _felt_ and the different ways that person was using it. And,” he twisted the rope together, then tugged it tight with his teeth until his hands were pressed together, bound in front of him, “I don’t know if _you’ve_ ever been smacked with a belt, but goddamn does it fucking hurt. I didn’t have a bruise but man, I didn’t want to sit down for _hours_ and the girl that had done it kept laughing at me.” He extended his hands to show Makki.

“Oh, wow.” He stared at Mattsun’s hands, then reached out and touched the knot between them with fascination. “Yeah, belts hurt—my friend hit me with one once just cause he was a dick. That’s really— How did you do that?” He leaned over Mattsun’s hands, taking them so he could turn his fingers away and look at the knot. “It’s really pretty.”

“Thank you,” Mattsun smiled, and liked that he’d impressed him. “Lots of practice. This rope is one of my favorite things I own.”

He couldn’t see Makki’s face but he did see how hesitant he was when touching the rope, like he was scared of it. Not surprising, after what he’d been through. That stung a little—if Mattsun couldn’t use rope… he’d have to think about what else would be good for the things he liked to do. Maybe long swaths of silk? Some other fabric? Strips of leather? He was considering this when Makki said, “I really want to… be okay with this.”

Mattsun blinked at him and raised his hands to tuck his fingers under Makki’s chin to raise his face. “With being tied up?”

Makki nodded. “That. And the— rope. I can tell it’s not just the shit you can buy at, like, Lowe’s or something. It still makes me… nervous, though. I know it’s a big part of this lifestyle and I want to be able to give that to you. I also want to get over my fears.” He pressed his face into Mattsun’s hands and kissed the tip of his thumb when Mattsun stroked it over his lips.

“We can work on that,” Mattsun told him. “We’ll start slow and see what happens. But if you absolutely don’t want to continue at any point, you tell me, okay? I can make something else work.”

Makki closed his eyes, leaning into his hands. “Okay.”

He let Makki rest for a moment, then carefully dropped his hands. “Here, help me get this off. Stick your finger in that loop and pull it—yeah, like that. And then pull on that piece and—there we go.” The complicated knot fell away as he pulled his hands apart, and he spent a few minutes twisting it back into a small, compressed coiled knot for storage. Then he allowed Makki to remove the cuffs from his wrists and replace them in the cabinet. “Is there anything else you want to look at?”

Makki shook his head even as his gaze roved over the equipment. “I… I look forward to seeing how you… wield these.” His eyes flicked up to meet Mattsun’s, and while he looked nervous, he also looked _excited_ and that more than anything made Mattsun think that, yes, they could do this—together.

Mattsun closed the drawers, the cabinets, and enclosed his collection back in the safety of the cabinet before pushing it against the wall. He pulled Makki to the bed and handed him his notebook and the packet of papers. “Come on, let’s just talk for a while. You didn’t finish that, I don’t think. Do you have any questions?”

“Uh, no. Not yet. I just—” He flushed a little, reading some of the things from the list. “It’s awfully graphic.”

Mattsun laughed. “That’s not graphic, trust me. What did you mark down for dirty talk?”

“By the way your face looks I bet you put down a yes.”

“I did, if you want to know.”

Makki hid his face behind his papers, snickering. “I can only imagine what that’ll be like.” After a few more breathless giggles he lowered the papers and flipped through them, then drew a decisive _X_ on the Yes column next to _dirty talk during scenes/sex_. “And I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Why don’t you finish that, and then we can go over them together and fill out the rest of the paperwork. I know it seems so…”

“No, no,” Makki said, smiling. “I like it. It makes it feel much more…” He struggled, glancing around looking for the right word as if he could find it in the corners of the bedroom. “… Kosher?”

Mattsun barked a laugh as he dug through his own papers he’d filled out for Makki to look at. “Kosher?”

“I don’t know! It feels more, like, authentic and proper. Safer. Less prone to accidents.”

“Well, I hope so.”

Makki hovered his pencil over _Blindfolds_ and his face became vacant. “I do want to talk to you about…”

“We don’t have to do that,” Mattsun told him. “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Well, here’s the thing.” He sat up, rubbing his hand over his cheek and not looking at Mattsun. “Like with the ropes. And being… blindfolded. Or beaten—the good kind, not the abusive kind. I don’t know _how_ I’ll do with those things, but I want to be okay with them so that I can move past them. You understand?”

“I understand why you want that, but you know it can be very difficult to overcome these types—”

Makki interrupted him. “I’ve been looking online at things like behavioral and conditional therapy.”

Mattsun pulled away, rubbing his face with his hands. “That’s serious.”

“It’s a serious phobia.”

Mattsun only frowned at him, dubious about his ideas.

“Look,” Makki said, “you said we’d go slow. That’s exactly what I mean. That’s all.”

“It’s not exactly—”

“It’s just doing a little bit at a time, slowly, until I get used to it!”

Mattsun scowled at him now, not bothering to hide how annoyed he was at being interrupted twice in a row. “I know what it is, Makki.”

“Then it should be easy.” Makki’s smile was wide, pleased with his idea.

“Easy is not the word I would use,” Mattsun said slowly.

“But we can try?”

Groaning, pressing his hands over his eyes, Mattsun sat quietly while he thought. He could feel Makki’s eyes on him, waiting for his words, and eventually said, “We can try, but only if you promise me you’ll continue to see that therapist and work through it with him, too? I can’t be your therapist, Makki. There’s a very good reason that doctors and therapists aren’t allowed to treat their own family and friends.” He reached over and took Makki’s hand, squeezing gently. “Is that a good compromise?”

Makki nodded, setting aside his papers so he could scoot over beside him and lay his head on Mattsun’s shoulder. “Yes. I like him, so I wanted to keep seeing him, anyway. Do you think… I could talk to him about all this?”

“I would encourage you to do so,” Mattsun said with a smile, patting his hand. Makki turned his face up for a kiss and Mattsun obliged, letting them both relax after the trying conversation. They kissed until Makki had melted against him and Mattsun was considering just knocking the papers to the floor and using the bed for more intimate purposes but managed to pull away and set his mind back to what he knew needed to be finished.

“Your safe word was _strawberry_ , right?” He pulled the papers over and began filling out all the bits and bobs that required filling-in. It took time, at least an hour—with a few dirty jokes tossed in for good measure—but eventually, they’d talked through the list, the questions, the system that they would build together. Their lists were more-or-less the same, which pleased Mattsun in a way that he hadn’t thought would please him, but finding someone with the same kinks as he did seemed a serendipitous occurrence. The things they didn’t agree on were few and far between, and even those Makki had put _maybe_ next to instead of _no_ , so Mattsun was hopeful that he could work Makki up to enjoying the things he had in mind.

As Mattsun was reading over and filling out notes for himself on Makki’s physical well-being and care he suddenly looked up as a thought occurred to him. “Wait— why has it taken two years for your shoulder to heal? I’ve read up on torn muscles and the recovery time and it shouldn’t take that long.”

Makki flushed and rubbed a hand over the injury in question. “Well… it doesn’t take long when you do your therapy and take care of it. I’m not the best at doing that, though…”

“Hmph,” Mattsun said sternly, making Makki blush. “That’s going to change.”

When they were done Makki giggled as he signed it, and then stacked the papers together and dropped them on the bedside table. “All this talk of kinks, sex, and coming has made me—well, wanting to do some of it.”

“God, me too,” Mattsun groaned out, laying back and curling his hands over Makki’s hips and raising him up so he could kiss the soft, tender skin of his inner thigh. Makki shivered and had to grab a hold of the headboard to not fall over. “Just so you know, I have lots of plans for this part of your body,” Mattsun said, letting his teeth graze gently across his skin.

“Yeah?” Makki murmured, the muscles of his thighs quivering as he spread himself over Mattsun’s shoulders. “Would you—” His voice shook, too, but he pushed on: “Would you tell me, Sir?”

Mattsun smiled, just the word _sir_ making him feel a certain way deep down in his stomach. He tightened his fingers, looking up and catching Makki’s eye as he sank his teeth in. Makki keened above him, rocking his hips and the muscles all along his legs flexing under his hands. “Your photoshoots for the next few weeks…” He panted, pressing a kiss to the teeth marks he’d left. “Do you have to take your pants off for them?”

“N-no,” Makki breathed out, his breath already uneven. He was getting hard already.

“Good,” he said softly, and bit down on the other side, holding him still as Makki let out a loud moan and pressed his hips down. Makki had marked an enthusiastic _Yes_ on his list next to _biting_ and Mattsun fully intended to explore that kink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Makki's past: He was kidnapped and held captive and blindfolded for a few days before escaping--damaging his shoulder in the process.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> ** -- eating disorder is shown in slightly more detail  
> && \- for Panic Attack

“Cold!” Makki yelped, shrinking away from the ice pack that Mattsun pressed to the inside of his leg. He lay spread out on the couch in the living room, only in his underwear as Mattsun sat between his legs.

“It’s good for the bruises,” Mattsun said, smiling. The myriad of Mattsun-mouth-shaped bruises had faded to a dull yellow instead of the bright purple they had been last week, but Mattsun still liked looking at them and helping them heal so he could paint more across Makki’s skin. It had gone over well last week, and between his teeth and his voice, he’d had Makki a puddle in his arms before he’d ever taken off his underwear.

Makki pouted and squirmed underneath him, spreading his thighs wider so Mattsun could lay another ice pack over his other leg. “I know… doesn’t make it not cold.”

“Ten minutes, my pet.” He cradled Makki’s legs, smiling down at him. “Just watch your movie.”

Makki grimaced, settling down deeper into the couch and glancing at the television that was playing the animated Disney version of _Hercules_. He was going through his training montage with the satyr now, and Makki was humming along—he knew all the words to every song that had been in any movie that they’d watched and it was something that made Mattsun’s chest feel warm and fuzzy in a way that he wasn’t used to but enjoyed. It was also endearing when he watched flamingo documentaries on Nat Geo, and that Mattsun had to try not to smile at when Makki was desponding the loss of the babies as they tried to survive their first few months of life.

Suddenly the front door burst open—a loud banging as it smacked into the wall—and Mattsun was already up and prepared to possibly punch a thief in the throat as Akaashi rushed into the room. He skidded to a halt when he saw Makki spread out on the couch.

“What the—” He stopped, waving his hands. “Nothing, no, I don’t want to know. I gotta get ready!” He rushed upstairs in a flurry of activity.

Mattsun and Makki blinked at each other. “Be… right back,” Mattsun said nervously, then followed Akaashi up the stairs to his bedroom. “What are you doing?” He had to duck as a shirt came flying over his head as Akaashi searched through his closet.

Akaashi was rushing through his words as he stripped his clothes, “I was invited to a party! I’m already late; I had to call out of my shift at the bar. Jeremy’s pissed—Alec’s probably mad, too. Everyone’s mad at me, but I don’t really care.” He paused for half a second, shooting a confused look over to Mattsun. “Please tell me Makki wasn’t naked on our couch.”

“You’ve been naked on our couch.” Mattsun pointed out. “ _With_ other men.”

Akaashi shrugged into a gray buttoned shirt and tugged the sleeves straight. “Touché. But is he naked?”

“No, he’s got underwear on.”

“Oh, good. Which tie?” He held up a red, blue, and black one.

“Wait, why are you going to this party?” Mattsun asked, leaning his hip on the dresser and looking at the different ties. “Black.”

Akaashi looped the tie around his neck and pulled on a matching black vest. “I was invited.”

“By _who_?”

“Y.T.”

Mattsun squinted at him, unable at first to comprehend this non-sequitur. “Beg pardon?”

“The guy I’ve been flirting with for a few months.”

“Oh, the initials from your pants.”

Akaashi winked at him as he hopped into black slacks. “Hopefully, he’ll be _in_ my pants, soon.”

Mattsun rolled his eyes. “Just be careful, Keiji.” He held his arm out for Akaashi to hold onto while he tugged his shoes on, and then he spent a few moments helping him pick out a jacket—suit cut, very nice, a little big on him, but it looked charming. Before Akaashi could go back downstairs, Mattsun grabbed his arm and turned him around, pulling his tie apart and re-working the knot.

“That was perfectly fine; thank you very much.”

“This is better.” Mattsun laid his hands on Akaashi’s cheeks to make him look at him. “You’ve been talking to this guy for months—I need you to be careful, alright?”

“You’ve already said that,” Akaashi said with a smile.

“I know, but I mean it. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Despite the risk of rumpling his clothes, Akaashi reached up to loop his arms around Mattsun’s neck and hug him close. “I know, and I promise I’ll take care of myself.”

Mattsun held him tight, laying his cheek on Akaashi’s head and wishing that Akaashi felt more solid in his arms—he felt like he would snap in half at the slightest breeze. Finally, when he could tell that his protective heart was about to overcome him and tell Akaashi that he couldn’t go, just stay here with him and Makki, or to let Mattsun go with him, he stepped out of the embrace. He ran his fingers through Akaashi’s perpetually messy hair to try and straighten it. “Go on now. You said you were already late.”

Akaashi beamed at him and bounced down the stairs, waving and shouting a breathless “Bye, Makki!” over his shoulder as he raced out the door.

The two looked at each other after Akaashi had gone, and Mattsun shrugged. “Well, at least we have the house to ourselves. He’s going to a party.”

Makki sat up a little, pressing his legs closed but keeping the ice packs between them. Luckily, models had less of a problem being without clothes and seeing half-naked people, so neither Akaashi nor Makki would be embarrassed at this social faux pas. “A party?”

Mattsun shrugged. “You know as much as I do.” He moved back to the couch and touched his knee to get him to widen his legs so that Mattsun could pick the ice pack up and examine the bruises. “Looks like they’re almost healed.”

“Then you’ll put more there?” Makki asked with a grin.

“Maybe. We’ll have to see.” He glanced at the television and asked, “How much do you want to finish this?”

“Not much. Do you have other plans?”

Mattsun inhaled slowly, because _yes_ he did have plans, but he wasn’t sure how well it was going to go over. “Yes. Come on, let’s go upstairs.” He took Makki’s hand and helped him up, then replaced the ice packs in the freezer before they ascended. “Sit,” he told him, gesturing to the bed. “We’re going to do something… that I think will be a little difficult for you, I’ll tell you that now.”

“O—kay,” Makki murmured as he climbed onto the bed and got comfortable.

“I’m telling you this because I know that some subs are worried, or scared to use their safewords. You have three—tell them to me.” Mattsun hadn’t forgotten—he’d memorized them the moment he saw them—but he wanted to remind Makki what they were, just in case.

“The one where I need to stop, or if I really really don’t like what’s happening, is _strawberry_.” He smiled as he said it, amused at his choice of words. “And then if I’m getting uncomfortable, or just want you to know that it’s approaching too much, it’s _cannoli_.” Again, he giggled. Mattsun didn’t think much was funny about safety, but he was happy that Makki was relaxed, so he let it slide. “Medical emergency is _peaches_.”

Mattsun shook his head a little as he climbed onto the bed and sat in front of him. “Were you hungry when you made them?”

“Maybe a little.”

Mattsun smiled at him, holding out his hands so that Makki laid his in them. He stroked his fingers over Makki’s wrists. “I need you to remember that you can use them at any time. I won’t be mad. There’s no shame in it. They’re to make you feel safe.”

“Okay…” Makki’s voice had taken on a low, hesitant tone. He glanced at their hands and said, “Do you think that I’ll need to use one of them tonight?”

“I don’t know. I know that, as of now, I still can’t read you as well as I’d like. Not yet. I’m getting better, but I still need you to be generous in your use of your safe words if you feel uncomfortable. They are tools like everything else, and using them isn’t going to ruin anything. It will help us find your limits and how we can safely push them.”

Makki nodded again, and Mattsun took a moment to compose himself, knowing that he was about to venture into uncomfortable territory for Makki, and he was nervous. “So, I know you said you want to overcome your fears of restraints,” he began slowly, not allowing his own fear to show through, especially as he saw Makki’s eyes widen, then narrow with worry. “I think this is a good place to start. I’m just going to use my hands for now, and I’ll start slow. Anytime you feel nervous, you pull away, and I’ll let you go.” It was also a way to build a repertoire between them—the trust that Makki would need in order to give himself over to Mattsun, and allow himself to really enjoy the experiences that Mattsun was planning for him.

He moved a little closer so that their knees touched and brought one of his hands up to kiss his knuckles. Then he wrapped his fingers around Makki’s wrists right over the bone, and gently squeezed, just enough to feel how tense he was. Immediately Makki’s hands jerked away, so Mattsun released him without hesitation and allowed him to pull his hands to his lap.

They watched each other, Mattsun trying to read the confusion and fear in his face, and waited for him to decide if he trusted Mattsun enough to continue. It took almost a full minute of Makki frowning down at his hands before he reached out, palms up, and laid them in Mattsun’s again.

“Remember to breathe, Makki,” he said softly as he curled his fingers again, just holding this time. He waited until Makki had cycled through several breaths before he put any pressure on his wrists again. This time Makki tensed but didn’t pull away and Mattsun counted silently to himself for sixty seconds before he increased the pressure by a fraction. “What are you thinking?”

Makki shook his head, his face a mask of concentration—mouth pinched and brows drawn together in a deep _v_. The muscles in his jaw twitched and worked as he ground his teeth, but he held perfectly still.

The next time the muscles in Makki’s arms relaxed, which took several long minutes, Mattsun said, “Are you okay?”

Makki nodded quickly, but everything in him was wound tight.

“Can you talk to me?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek; his left eyebrow pitched low as he worked through his thoughts. “I—... I don’t like it,” he said, “but I can handle it. Y-your fingers are warm.”

“Do you want to sit like this for a while?”

Nodding, Makki flexed his fingers, and with some prompting, he managed to take deep, meditative breaths.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I think I’m okay.”

Mattsun smiled at him, encouraging and comforting but unable to hug him with his hands still wrapped around Makki’s wrists. “Would you like to stop? We can try to go further a different—“

“No,” Makki said quickly. “I want to see how... how much this could work.”

Mattsun leaned close to peer at him and waited until Makki looked him in the eye and held his gaze. He studied him, trying to work out if his words were true or if he was trying to put on a brave front like he’d done at the club. It wasn’t until Mattsun felt the tension in his arms soften that he thought it safe to continue. “A little more, okay?” Even though his hands were already sore, he made sure that when he squeezed tighter, he did it in tiny increments. Anytime Makki looked too uncomfortable, or too in his head, or his hands twitched, Mattsun would release him, and they would talk quietly until he felt he could continue, and then the would start the exercise anew from the beginning. He didn’t know how long this went on, but eventually, his fingers were tingling and numb, and Makki’s face was so pale he looked like a ghost, but he’d stopped shaking, and the far-away look in his eyes had receded and had been replaced by a tiny spark of eager anticipation.

Before Mattsun released him he said, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Makki spread his fingers, then closed them into fists again, the crease between his brows deepening as he thought. He wet his lips before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was on the edge of hoarseness. “I— I’m okay.” He sucked his lip between his teeth and chewed for a moment before he looked up to meet Mattsun’s eyes. “I’m still a little nervous… but I feel safe with you. I’m not…” He shivered, and his mouth spread in a quivering smile. “I’m not scared.”

“Good,” Mattsun said with an answering smile. “We’ll do this again, going a little further each time until you’re not scared. Okay? Now I’m going to let go, and you might feel some tingling in your hands.” He peeled his fingers away, one-by-one, slowly and meticulously. Makki’s wrists were pale where his fingers had been, and he rubbed the marks with his hands, but a smile still flicked across his features. “Stay here. I’m going to go get something.” He leaned over and kissed Makki’s cheek before going downstairs and retrieving several of the large, flat packs with corn and cherry pits he kept in the freezer. They were cold enough that he could lay them directly on the skin and it wouldn’t be too harsh. He wondered if Akaashi thought about all the ice packs they kept in the freezer or what Mattsun used them for. Wondered if Akaashi would judge him. It didn’t matter—even if Akaashi _did_ judge him, he’d say so.

Upstairs, he sat with Makki again and had him lay his hands flat on one of the ice packs, then covered it with the other one before curling his own fingers around the cool cloth. “Are you still alright?”

Makki nodded, smiling at him. “I’m happy.”

“You are?” Mattsun raised his eyebrows. “That’s not exactly the emotion I thought you’d have right now.”

He shrugged, wiggling his fingers into the frozen cherry pits. “I didn’t think so, either. But I still am. And I think that means,” his voice went soft and pleased, “that I’ll be able to move on from my problems—with you—and I can’t wait to go down that road with you.”

* * *

It was early afternoon when they finally awoke and pulled themselves out of bed. They walked down to a local café for breakfast: fresh-baked bread still steaming once sliced open, whipped cinnamon butter, runny eggs, crispy bacon and, plump, juicy sausages.

“We could never make this,” Makki said with a sigh before sopping the yolk of his egg up with bread and popping it into his mouth.

“If either of us had money we could hire a personal chef.”

“Oh, if only!”

Back at the brownstone, they lounged and watched another movie, Makki curling up on the couch with his head in Mattsun’s lap. Mattsun stroked his hair with his fingers as Makki’s eyelids drooped, trying to stay awake but slipping into sleep, his head becoming heavier, his limbs settling as his muscles relaxed. Mattsun couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Makki sleeping so soundly. His face was turned up, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, lips parted just a little as he let out a contented sigh. He liked to see it because he knew that Makki didn’t usually sleep well—sometimes he woke in the middle of the night with every muscle taut and tense, and Mattsun would be roused by the feeling of unease that seeped through the sheets. He would reach over and touch Makki’s back, each vertebra pushed against the skin with tension, and rouse him enough to tell him _it’s okay, you’re safe,_ and clutch him close. Sometimes Makki would wake fully, sobbing, panicked until Mattsun could calm him—and sometimes he wouldn’t wake, and would sink back down into a restless, fitful sleep.

So, even though the movie was over and the brownstone was quiet, Mattsun didn’t wake him. Instead, he pet his hair the way he liked and pulled an old knotted blanket off the back of the couch to keep him warm. He didn’t know how long he sat there—so long that he began to doze himself, but he woke when he heard the front door open and close like a whisper. He looked up to see Akaashi shuffling across the foyer and said, “Hey, you’re back late. Have fun?”

Akaashi paused like he’d been caught in a trap. His eyes were puffy and bruised, his skin pale. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

“That bad?” Mattsun asked, curling his fingers around Makki’s head as he shifted in response to his voice.

Akaashi’s eyes dropped away, and he clutched hard at the jacket around his shoulders. Ducking his head, he skittered up the stairs, running away from the conversation. Mattsun frowned after him, wanted to go up and find out what happened, see if Akaashi was okay, but just then Makki turned and pressed his face into Mattsun’s belly, curling around him. Mattsun couldn’t wake him after that—and besides, he heard the shower begin overhead. He’d get the story later.

* * *

(TW: Akaashi’s ED is shown in more detail in this section, denoted by ** )

But _later_ never came. They never saw each other for three days, not even during the usual morning and evening routines that Mattsun had grown accustomed to. During dinner one night, Makki looked up from the baked fish he was eating—they had ordered from a diner down the street—and asked, “Where’s Akaashi? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

Mattsun chewed his bite slowly, considering. “It’s… you know, it’s been a few days. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“That’s weird.” Makki sat back in his chair, frowning up at the ceiling as if he could see through the floorboards to Akaashi’s bedroom. “He used to spend a lot of time down here, at least. Have you talked to him?”

“No. Like I said, I haven’t seen him.”

Makki’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I don’t like that.”

“Me neither,” Mattsun murmured.

“I’ll go check on him!” he announced as he jumped up from the table. He strode off, vanishing upstairs.

Mattsun watched him go, already nervous at what he would be coming back with. He hadn’t wanted to think about the fact that Akaashi had been hiding in his room since that party. He’d just assumed that Akaashi had been dumped there—and was taking it hard because he’d been trying to hook up with one guy for weeks. Usually, his conquests didn’t last so long, nor were they so drawn out. With a sigh, he stood and cleaned up their plates and moved towards the stairs, but just as he reached the bottom and looked up, he saw Makki appear at the top. His face was hard to read, but it suggested some natural disaster—something irreparably broken.

Mattsun’s stomach wrenched so hard he lost his breath. What had happened to Akaashi? Where was he? _Why_ hadn’t he come downstairs? He bounded up the stairs three at a time and threw himself around the corner as Makki stammered behind him, “He’s— I don’t know—”

_Don’t be—_

_Please._

He stopped beside Akaashi’s bed, leaning over, pulling on the blankets—Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut and gasped at the sudden cold and light on his face. “Jesus,” Mattsun muttered as he sat on the edge of the bed. “What’re you doing?”

He didn’t answer, only grumbled and pushed his face into his pillow, trying to tug the blankets up over his face.

“Keiji,” Mattsun whispered softly. He reached over and touched his hair—it was greasy and still wet, his pillow was wet, too. “What’s going on?” Akaashi didn’t answer him, so he said, “When’s the last time you showered?” And then, because he _still_ wouldn’t answer: “Babe, come on. Talk to me.”

“Hm…” Akaashi mumbled into his pillow. His eyes were foggy, the skin around them rubbed red and raw.

“Is this because you got fucked over by that guy? He dump you?” Mattsun realized the moment he said it that he shouldn’t have—Akaashi’s eyes flicked up at him and danced away, the breath in him rushing out like he’d been punched. Mattsun sighed and pulled the blankets away from him, reaching under him to get him to sit up. “No, no,” he said as Akaashi protested. “You need to shower and eat something.”

“Not hungry.”

“I don’t care.” He stood and slipped his arms around Akaashi to pull him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you clean.”

“I can walk on my own,” Akaashi muttered, pushing him away. Mattsun stepped back, glancing at Makki, who stood peeking in the doorway, a little pale with worry. Akaashi moved past him—a little uncertain on his feet—and into the bathroom, closing the door softly.

They watched the door for a long moment before Makki said, “He wouldn’t even look at me when I went in. Wouldn’t open his eyes.”

** Mattsun shook his head a little, frustration rising. He cared for Akaashi, and wanted to help him but didn’t know how. He _knew_ he had issues eating, knew he had problems with relationships, and knew that he denied both of these things anytime anyone brought them up or had some clever comeback that would distract the person asking. “I’m going to go make him something to eat,” he said, even though as he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what they had in their kitchen that could constitute a meal.

“Okay… I— I’ll…” Makki was chewing on his lower lip, gazing around Akaashi’s bedroom. He’d never been in there before, but it wasn’t the clutter or the mountain of clothes spilling from the closet and dresser that seemed to upset him. He moved to Akaashi’s bed and began stripping it. “Probably needs washing,” he muttered.

Mattsun grabbed him before he went upstairs to the laundry room on the third floor. “Wait, can you hang out here for a minute?” He glanced at the closed bathroom door. “Just keep an ear out.”

“For what?” Makki asked, frowning at the door and beginning to fold the sheets to a more manageable pile.

** “I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. “You’ll know if you hear it, though.” He left Makki to go down and rummage around in the kitchen. He wondered how long it had been since Akaashi had actually eaten anything… and thought it was at least a day or two, possibly since the party? Too long, in any case. Much too long. After digging in the back of the fridge and cabinets, he came up with a package of not-stale crackers and a small assortment of cheeses that he thought he’d bought last week while he and Makki had been browsing the local organic supermarket. It wasn’t much, but it was _something_. Anything heavy might just make Akaashi’s stomach worse.

Back upstairs, he found Makki had moved on from folding bedsheets to folding the clothes on the floor. He set the little plate down on Akaashi’s dresser and said, “He’s not going to like that.”

Makki looked up, a shimmering blue and silver shirt in his hands. “Why?”

“He doesn’t like it when people clean his room.”

“Oh.” Makki sighed and dropped the shirt back into the pile he’d been working his way through. “Can I go wash those now?”

After he was gone, Mattsun stuck his head in the closet—the bathroom was right on the other side of the wall—but didn’t hear the water running anymore. He stepped over the clothes and went to the bathroom, knocking on the door with his knuckle. “You done?”

Akaashi didn’t answer, but after a long minute, the door opened, and he frowned out at Mattsun. His voice was subdued and soft when he spoke, “Need in here?” He’d draped a towel over his head to catch the droplets still tangled in it from his shower. One of them dripped down his cheek.

“No.” Mattsun pushed the door open further and checked that Akaashi was dressed—in the owl pajamas he’d gotten for Christmas, Makki would like that—then took his arm and walked him to his bedroom. Akaashi paused in the doorway when he saw his stripped bed and frowned at him, but Mattsun piled the bare pillows against the wall and had him sit on it anyway. “Just hang tight,” he told Akaashi. He took up the little snack tray and sat beside him on the bed, offering it up. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care,” Mattsun said emphatically, pushing it toward him. He waited until Akaashi picked up a cracker, then until he nibbled on it like a mouse. “There we go.”

He sat for a long time while Akaashi ate the little cracker bit by bit. It took ten or fifteen minutes. Long enough for Makki to come down and poke his head in, then vanish abruptly all over again once he saw they weren’t talking.

“What’s going on, Keiji?” Mattsun asked gently. He picked up a piece of cheese and another cracker, pushing it into Akaashi’s limp hand. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to talk—”

“Don’t,” Mattsun said. “Please.”

Akaashi took a small bite of the cheese-covered cracker and chewed for a long time. “It was the party,” he said eventually. “It wasn’t… what I thought it would be.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Mattsun said, reaching over and carefully toweling his hair a little drier. “But that’s no reason to just laze in bed all week. You need to pull yourself together, okay?”

Akaashi’s shoulders slumped, ducking his head into his chest. He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders began to shake and, when Mattsun pulled the towel away, he found that tears streamed steadily down his face. Mattsun let out a sigh and sank down beside him, pulling him into his arms.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay—”

“I’m not,” Akaashi muttered into his shoulder, his fingers clutching at Mattsun’s shirt. “It’s — I’m so—” He was having a hard time catching his breath, and his words wouldn’t come out quite right. “—fucked up.”

Mattsun blinked in surprise, tightening his arms around him, wanting to protect him from whatever he was going through and from himself. He’d _never_ heard Akaashi swear like that. It shocked him to silence and allowed Akaashi to continue to cry for a moment before he said, “Stop that, Keiji, that’s not true. No, really, I mean it.” He pulled away so he could look him in the eye, putting both hands on Akaashi’s cheeks to keep his gaze up. “You can’t let anyone make you feel like that— you’re a wonderful person.”

Akaashi’s voice was barely there: “I don’t feel like it…”

Sighing, Mattsun let Akaashi burrow into his arms again and cry. He knew that he was probably just beating himself up over whatever had happened with the guy, and just needed to get it out, get his emotions out instead of keeping them all inside him. He’d be okay soon, but right now, Mattsun thought it best to just be there for him. He ran his fingers through Akaashi’s wet hair and hugged him close. They stayed like that for so long Makki came back twice and Mattsun had to give him a small shake of his head to tell him that it wasn’t a good time. Finally, Akaashi seemed to have stopped crying and lay with his lead on Mattsun’s shoulder, sniffling a little and wiping his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in a hoarse, cracked voice.

Mattsun kept his hand on Akaashi’s head, stroking his fingers over his ear and through his hair. “No, don’t be. I know how hard shit like this can be.”

Akaashi’s eyes squeezed closed as if he was in pain, but then he gathered himself and took a deep breath, sitting up and wiping his eyes. Mattsun handed him a box of tissues from his bedside table and waited while Akaashi cleaned himself up as best he could. “I need to wash my face,” he said in a small voice.

“You _need_ to eat something,” Mattsun told him as he reached for the tray again. “Just a little bit. For me?”

Akaashi eyed the feeble offering, then his eyes searched Mattsun’s face, but he must have seen that Mattsun wasn’t going to budge this time. So he sighed and leaned against the wall, taking up some of the cheese and crackers and eating them in small, careful bites.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Because if you do—”

“I don’t,” Akaashi snapped, not looking at him. Then in a more gentle voice, he said, “I just… I’d been building him up in my head, hoping that it would become something… more. More than just— y’know?”

Mattsun nodded. “Of course. We all want that.”

“But I was wrong. It won’t be anything. Nothing good, anyway.” Akaashi sighed again, stuffing the last of his second cracker in his mouth. Now that he’d started eating, he seemed to care less about the careful, tiny bites he usually ate with.

“Well, you’re better than him, anyway.” Mattsun plucked a piece of the sharp white cheese from the plate and popped it in his mouth. “You deserve someone who’ll love you unequivocally.”

Akaashi snorted a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious. You hold off ‘till you find someone who deserves you.” He nudged Akaashi’s shoulder with his knuckles. “I’ll tell you when you find one, that way you don’t have to worry about thinking too hard about it.”

Akaashi’s only answer was to eat another cracker whole. At that moment there was a tiny knock on the doorframe, and they both looked up to see Makki standing with his arms full of the bedsheets.

“Clean!” he announced with a smile. “Still warm, too.”

** They climbed off the bed and between the three of them managed to make it up again—why Akaashi kept his bed against the wall, Mattsun would never know nor understand—then Makki gave Akaashi a kiss and left the room, going upstairs to Mattsun’s room to give them more time so that Mattsun could make sure that Akaashi wasn’t going to vanish for another three days. They sat on the floor and leaned against Akaashi’s bed while he ate the rest of the small meal—it took almost two hours, the two of them talking about small, silly things that they both knew were only a way to keep Akaashi talking. After the plate was clean, Akaashi leaned his head on Mattsun’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Alright.” He turned his face into Mattsun’s shirt and pressed his forehead there before sitting up again. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

Mattsun glanced at the windows and could see a sliver of the night outside. “Do you have work in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll wake you up, then. We’ll get breakfast smoothies.”

Akaashi stood carefully, stretching his back and legs out after so long sitting in the floor. “Okay, Mattsun.”

Mattsun got to his feet too and caught Akaashi in a fierce, protective hug. “I’m serious. Don’t do that again. I love you too much for you to do this to yourself. Promise me that you’ll come to me if you need help.”

“Promise,” Akaashi whispered against his shoulder, his arms clutching around Mattsun’s waist.

When they separated, Mattsun took Akaashi’s face in his hands and turned it up so he could look him over, searching him for any other signs of distress. He didn’t find any—none that he hadn’t expected, anyway—and then tucked him into bed. “Six AM I’m waking your ass up.”

From under his pile of fresh-smelling blankets, Akaashi said, “When was the last time _you_ were awake at six AM?”

Mattsun only tugged the blankets up over his head and walked out, closing the door softly behind him. He set the plate on the banister to take down later because he was _not_ walking down and then up three flights of stairs. In his bedroom, he found Makki playing with the old Nintendo DS he’d found last week. He’d learned that Makki had never played Pokémon, Mario, Zelda, or any of Mattsun’s other favorite childhood games, so he’d promptly set him up with the little console and said he should play them in his free time.

He flicked it closed when Mattsun entered and asked, “How is he?”

Mattsun came and dropped on the bed beside him. “He’ll be okay, I think.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Mattsun said with a yawn. “Something at that party. He didn’t want to say.”

Makki frowned, clearly still worried. “I guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on him, hm?”

“Yeah,” Mattsun said, reaching out an arm and curling it around Makki’s hips, burying his face in his leg and closing his eyes. “What’re you playing?”

“Kirby.”

“Mhm, good one. You can keep playing. You’ve got an early day tomorrow, though, so not too long. It’s already getting late.”

Makki’s hand brushed through Mattsun’s hair for a few moments before Mattsun heard the sound of the game resuming. “Just let me finish this level, and we’ll go to bed.”

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, they both made sure to watch Akaashi carefully but other than being a little slow in the morning, he went through the days at a steady pace, going so far as to eat dinner with them whenever he wasn’t working at the bar. After a while, everything seemed to have gone back to normal—or as normal as their lives got, anyway—and one evening Akaashi came downstairs and quietly accepted the small container Mattsun thrust at him to take to work with him. He didn’t know if Akaashi would eat it, but he at least took it. “When will you be home?”

Akaashi shrugged as he fixed himself a to-go cup of hot tea. “Late. They keep pushing back the shift hours so it’s later and later. Maybe midnight?”

Mattsun made a face at that. “That’s late. You need to be careful coming home.” He paused, then said, “Why do you have a second job, anyway? You can’t be getting more than, like, four or five hours to sleep.”

“I don’t make as much money as you,” Akaashi told him, not looking at him.

“Get a better manager to negotiate for you, then. Damn.” He shook his head, frustrated for Akaashi. “Until then, just—”

“I know, I know,” Akaashi said with a little laugh, “look both ways crossing the street and don’t talk to strangers. Okay.” He patted Mattsun’s chest as he passed. “See you tomorrow.”

After he was gone, Mattsun went back upstairs to his room and found Makki sprawled out on his bed with a sizable book. “What’s that?”

Makki beamed up at him. “ _Hitchhiker’s Guide_.”

“Oh, cool. I read that once. The first one, I think. Or I saw the movie.”

“You saw the movie?”

“I have seen _some_ movies.” He leaned over to look at the book, but Makki tilted it away from his line of sight.

“Spoilers! You can’t look at a book in the _middle_.”

Mattsun rolled his eyes, grinning. “Think you’ll be done soon?” He sat beside him on the bed, trailing a hand up the back of his thigh.

Makki flipped a few pages. “I’ve got six more, and I’ll be done with this chapter.”

“Okay, keep reading. I’ll wait,” Mattsun said with a smile. Makki looked at him over his shoulder for a moment, skeptical, then turned back to the book. Mattsun waited until it looked like he was several paragraphs in and was settling down to finish this chapter then he squeezed Makki’s thigh with his hand, making him squeak and turn his head sharply. Mattsun smiled at him and said gently, “Read your book.”

Makki’s mouth worked a moment, but he turned back to it obediently.

After waiting another minute to let him get into the words, Mattsun leaned over and tugged up the hem of Makki’s shirt to press a series of kisses to his back. Makki didn’t turn back to him, but the muscles under his skin jumped with each touch of Mattsun’s lips. Makki had taken a shower earlier, and the smell of his clean skin was tantalizing, so Mattsun rubbed his cheek over the soft skin. He hooked his fingers in Makki’s shorts and pushed them down—he wasn’t wearing any underwear, as Mattsun had told him to do whenever he came over and stayed the night—and moved his kisses to one of the round, firm muscles of his ass cheeks. He had played a lot of sports in his formidable years, and these days he kept up with his gym membership, and it _showed_ … which Mattsun was wildly appreciative of.

He’d learned that Makki was strong and also more flexible than he’d thought—than either of them had thought, really. They’d been practicing with soft ropes and silk swaths, usually only one limb at a time, and Makki was slowly coming to learn that, as long as Mattsun was with him, he would be alright. Mattsun was teaching him how to trust him, how to follow simple—and sometimes difficult—commands ( _Look at me; Spread your legs; Pleasure me; Touch yourself; Stay still_ ) and teaching him that Mattsun would make this good for the both of them. They’d had a lot of good scenes together, a lot of good orgasms, too. Mattsun tugged Makki’s shorts further off his hips, dragging his teeth over skin, and making Makki shiver.

“Sir?”

“I told you to read your book. Finish your chapter.” He slid his fingers over the curve the perfect ass that he’d learned the shape of, then slid his tongue over one of the dimples at the cleft of his ass. Then lower— just to make Makki squirm. He was rewarded with a wiggle and a little whine muffled into the sheets. “Makki,” he said in a gently warning tone.

His voice was a little higher pitched when he answered. “I’m reading.” It took him a few moments before he raised his head to actually continue reading.

Mattsun kissed his way up Makki’s back, his fingers spread wide over all the skin he could touch. He molded his hands to the shape of Makki’s waist, pressed kisses to any bit of skin he could reach. Makki’s muscles jumped and he would let out breathless little laughs sometimes—his sides were ticklish—and finally, he closed the book with a heavy sound.

“Done!” he declared, his voice almost a squeak as Mattsun squeezed his sides.

Mattsun reached up and plucked the book from his side and carefully tossed it onto the table. He sat up so that Makki could roll over, and Mattsun could pull his shorts the rest of the way off. “Took you long enough. Almost forgot why I was down here,” he replied, hooking his fingers under Makki’s knees and pulling them apart, then dropping his head between them.

He spent a long time there, making Makki whine and moan—loudly—as he worked him in his mouth until he was shaking all over. Makki’s hands clutched at his hair, pulling hard when Mattsun reached up with one hand to twist one of his nipples.

Makki squeezed his knees together until they were clamped around Mattsun’s head, keening out a soft sob. “Ah! I— Issei— Please—” He was panting, moaning each breath. Mattsun encouraged him with his mouth and his hands until he bucked his hips and cried out as his orgasm overwhelmed him.

Gently, Mattsun pushed Makki’s legs off his shoulders and let him flop to the side while he leaned over to wash his mouth with some water. Makki’s shirt was bunched up above his chest; his skin flushed pink and pretty. He leaned over and kissed his chest, grinning up at him.

“What was that for?” Makki asked, reaching up to slide his hand over Mattsun’s cheek, his thumb touching his lip.

“I just thought you’d like it,” Mattsun said, kissing his thumb. He moved to sit beside him, stroking his cheek with his fingers. “Wanted you to be nice and relaxed.”

“Well, it worked.” Makki grinned up at him, a sleepy smile spreading on his face. He turned his head and laid it on Mattsun’s leg, humming with pleasure. They sat like that a moment, letting Makki bask in the afterglow of his orgasm, and Mattsun basked in the joy of having given it to him.

“Hey,” he said eventually, “have you enjoyed our time together, Makki?”

Immediate response, sleepy though it was, “More than anything.”

“And you know that I’ll take care of you?”

“Always.”

He looked down at him, saying gently, “Do you trust me?”

Makki looked up at him, meeting his gaze and holding it for a long moment. “Yes,” he said emphatically.

Mattsun touched his lips with a fingertip, then let his hand caress his cheek before he slid off the bed and moved to the dresser. He picked up a small piece of silk from one of the drawers and ran his fingers over it as he came back to the bed. He held it out, watching as Makki slowly sat up, his eyes never leaving the strip of cloth that was just big enough to fit over the eyes. “What do you think?”

Makki frowned at it, tugging his shirt down as far as it would go. He held out his hand, and Mattsun laid the cloth in it and sat beside him. After a quiet, reflective moment of running it through his fingers, he said in a soft voice, “It makes me … fluttery inside. Not in a good way. But I don’t want to keep that feeling— I want to try this with you.”

He leaned over, giving Makki a kiss as he cupped his head. “I know it’ll be hard for you.”

“But we can try it?”

Mattsun nodded, pulling away enough to look him in the face. “First— I want to ask you about something. You were wearing a mask the first time we met. Is that not close to the same thing?”

“Mhm… no. Yes.” He sighed, shrugging a little. “It was different because … it was soft, and it wasn’t—y’know—tape. And I put it on myself.”

“Okay, then,” Mattsun said gently, “I’m going to have you put this on for me.” He let his voice slide easily into the commanding voice he’d been using on Makki. The one that told him that he wanted Makki to do as he told him, but that if he _couldn’t_ … then Mattsun would forgive him, and they would figure out how to move on.

Makki didn’t look up at him as he pressed his fingers to the small, irregularly shaped scar on his cheek. His hands were steady, but his chest was trembling as he took several long, deep breaths, taking a moment to compose himself. He pulled the strip of silk straight and ran his hand over it and, after sucking in and exhaling one last breath, brought it up to his face. When his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, and his body tensed as he pressed the cloth around his eyes. He tied the knot with trembling fingers then reached out, fingers grasping, until Mattsun took his and pressed it against his cheek.

“Just breathe,” he told Makki. “I just want you to get used to the feeling.” He moved closer, kneeling in front of him and keeping his hands on Makki’s shoulders. “I’m right here.”

Makki sucked in a breath, his fingers fumbling over Mattsun’s arms, his breathing hitched in and out. “I— It’s dark.”

Because Makki couldn’t see him, and only because, Mattsun allowed himself to feel worry and regret—was this too much? Too far? He tugged hard on the ring under his tongue until it hurt, bringing back a fraction of focus. He squeezed Makki’s arms, sliding them up to cup his palms over his cheeks and stroke the arches of his cheeks, up and around the curve of his eyebrows. Makki’s jaw tensed, and one of his hands fluttered down, clutching at Mattsun’s shirt, then pressing flat against his chest, his fingers digging in as if searching for his heart.

“Don’t leave me,” Makki whispered in a voice that was barely one at all.

Mattsun moved closer, not liking the sound of him or how clammy his face felt. “I’m going to take this off now.” He slipped his fingers under the cloth and pulled it off over his head.

&& As soon as Makki opened his eyes, Mattsun thought he might have waited too late—by seconds, maybe; the blindfold hadn’t been on more than a minute or two. He had a far-away look in his eye, and his mouth trembled. Right then, Mattsun knew that no matter what they did, no matter how hard Makki worked, he would never be okay with a blindfold. “Oh, pet,” he said softly and pulled Makki into his arms. Collapsing, folding in on himself, Makki began to cry—deep, bone wrenching sobs. Mattsun held him tight, almost crushing him, but Makki only held on harder. Mattsun leaned them until they fell back onto the bed, then Mattsun pushed himself on top of him, pressing down on his body in the way that he knew Makki needed—the weight helping keep him grounded. He let Makki cry, telling him in whispered words against his ear, “You’re okay. I’m here. You’re safe,” until he began to simply cry—long streams of salty tears while Mattsun stroked him. Then he pulled away, slowly sliding off to stretch out beside him and pressing one hand to Makki’s chest.

“Shh, take a breath for me, Makki. Count to four,” he said, putting a gentle forcefulness into his voice. It worked, Makki sucked down a deep breath. “Hold on— okay, now breathe out through your mouth for a count of four. There, yes, good. Keep doing that.”

Makki followed the breathing exercises until he stopped shaking, then he turned and buried himself under Mattsun’s arm, burrowing into his chest. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Mattsun said, wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his head. “It’s alright; you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m just…” Makki whined a little. “I hate this. I should just— It’s not worth it. I’m not worth—”

“Hey, now,” Mattsun said sharply, squeezing him. “Don’t you say that. You’re everything to me.”

Makki was shaking his head. “I can’t do it.” He pulled away, pushing against Mattsun’s chest, trying to get away from him.

“Stop it,” Mattsun said, holding his arms to keep him there, “don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me…”

But Makki was already ripping himself away, sliding off the bed, searching for his shorts to pull them on. “No, no, no, no, you need to— I’ve got to go.” He was frantic, still panicking, his hands shaking.

“Makki!” Mattsun grabbed for him, then almost shouted to be heard, “Takahiro! Stop this right now.” Makki turned to him, frozen like a deer in headlights—his cheeks pale and pink with tear tracks. Mattsun moved to him, reaching up to cup his face in his hands. “You’re not going anywhere, you understand me?”

“You don’t… need to waste your time on me.” Makki’s voice was a broken whisper, and he tried to pull away, but Mattsun held him tight. “It’s not fair to you. I should have fixed myself before I—”

“I’m not wasting my time,” Mattsun told him firmly, squeezing his fingers a little to prove his point. “You mean so much to me, and I want to help you. I came into this knowing that we _both_ have things that we need to work on. And I signed up for that, for us figuring all this out _together._ ”

Makki’s face twisted, caught between a desperate laugh and a sob. “I should go,” he repeated, voice thick. “Just give me—you—us some space until I can figure out— Until you can realize that—”

“Please don’t go,” Mattsun said in a voice that was as quiet as he could make it, which made Makki stop in his tracks and focus on his face as he tried to figure out what Mattsun said. “Please. Stay with me.” He watched as Makki searched his face, the way he was beginning to slump with despondence. He was pulling away—physically and emotionally. Mattsun took hold of Makki’s shirt and steered him to the bed, forcing him to sit. “Stay,” he ordered, then went to his closet to find the gift he’d bought for Makki a few days ago—he’d wanted to wait to give it to him, but thought that now was the right time to pull him back from the emotional abyss he was hurtling toward.

Back on the bed, Mattsun sat beside him and wordlessly handed him the box. Makki frowned at it, still sniffling. “What’s this?” his voice was hoarse and cracking.

“Open it.”

He flipped open the lid, and his eyes became watery again as he gazed at the slim, simple little collar that Mattsun had bought him. “Y-You’re not serious?” He was already shaking his head.

Mattsun leaned close and pulled it from the soft velvet inside. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to find one that I thought you would like if I wasn’t serious.”

“But… it’s too much.” His eyes never left the slim leather band and reached for it with trembling fingers.

“It’s exactly what it is, Makki.” He knew that Makki understood what a collar meant, but he thought that he should keep talking, just to keep words flowing between them even as they both held the collar in their hands, a bridge between them. “This isn’t permanent; it can be removed. Think of it as a mix between a day collar—it’s very simple, you see? It wouldn’t make anyone ask any questions you aren’t willing or ready to answer—and a training collar to show that we’re working together, and I am responsible for you, your wellbeing, and your training in our lifestyle. I wanted to find you something that you could wear often, and that would bring you comfort if and when I’m not around.”

Makki let out a long breath, like he’d been clutching air inside his chest and finally let it go. “But this is a big step, right?”

“It can be if you want it to. I’d like it to be.” He reached up to cup Makki’s face and turn his gaze so that Mattsun could look into his eyes. “I want this to prove to you how much I care about you. How much I’m willing to give of myself to you in the hope that you’ll do the same. We’re in this together, you and I.”

Tears didn’t fall down Makki’s cheeks, but his breath hitched as he leaned forward and let Mattsun embrace him. They clutched at one another as Makki collected himself—always laughing or crying, some mix of the two that made him sound a little manic but _mostly_ happy. At least Mattsun thought he sounded happy. Finally, he sat up and wiped a hand across his cheeks, his voice heavy but the smile on his face anything but. “Can I try it on?”

Mattsun smiled and said, “Of course.”

He ran his fingers over the slim, sleek collar that was barely a strip of dark, black leather.“Will you do it?”

Something bunched up in Mattsun’s chest, light and airy. “Of course,” he said again, pleased when Makki handed it over and tilted his chin up. Mattsun didn’t need to shift closer, but he did, so that their legs were touching and he could fasten the collar around Makki’s throat—the simple clasp locking in place at the back of his neck made Makki’s smile widen, crinkling the corners of his eyes and his chest swell with what Mattsun would have sworn was pride. Mattsun kept one hand on the back of his neck, his fingers spreading up into Makki’s hair and his pinky slipping underneath the collar to make sure it wasn’t very tight. The fit pleased him and, apparently, it pleased Makki, too. “There,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

Makki’s own fingers sought upward, feeling the collar around his neck. “You mean it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Mattsun promised him, leaning so their foreheads touched, keeping their gazes locked. “Keep this on and remember that it means that you are _mine_ ,” he said it gently, fiercely, putting all he had behind the word. “That I will protect you and keep you safe from anything the world can throw at you. You’ll always have a home with me, and I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

Instead of saying anything, Makki just turned his face up for a kiss, and Mattsun obliged him, cupping his head in his hands and kissing him with all he had—all the promises he had made reiterated in that one simple action. Makki’s arms came around him and pulled them both down to the bed, where Mattsun held him close and kissed him again and again, and Makki slid his hands up under Mattsun’s shirt. Eventually, they had to stop to breathe, and Mattsun kissed Makki’s cheeks, trailing down his chin and to his throat, kissing the space he could and tugging gently on the new collar with his teeth.

“Do you like it?” he asked, rubbing his nose over Makki’s jaw.

“Yes,” Makki said immediately, his hands stroking over Mattsun’s shoulders. “But can I ask you something?” His voice was tentative, worried, but still flush with delight from the gift.

“Anything, pet.” The endearment seemed much more sentimental now, and Mattsun couldn’t help smiling against Makki’s skin.

“How come…” He faltered, and Mattsun looked up at him to see a curious, tiny furrow to his brow. “Why didn’t Luke ever have one? I never saw him even wearing a necklace or anything.”

Sighing, Mattsun moved off of him but kept one hand on Makki’s chest to keep their physical connection. “Well,” he started, trying not to sound bitter because he still hated how he and Luke had ended things. The silver ring on his thumb never felt warm—always cold against his skin. “He was too vain, for one thing. We spent days and weeks looking for something that he liked because he hated all the ones I picked out for him in our early days. But he would always say he hated this one or that one for one reason or another. Eventually, I stopped offering anything permanent and we only used a play collar during scenes—but that wasn’t very often because it would upset me to use one at all with him.”

“Oh,” Makki breathed out. He was quiet while he stroked the fingers of one hand over Mattsun’s hand, the other fingering the collar around his throat. Then they tightened, and he clutched at it, his smile radiating like a small sun. “I’ll wear this one all the time. Every day. I’ll never take it off.”

His words pleased Mattsun, warming him from the inside out, and he leaned down for another kiss. “I understand if you take it off for work—our bodies aren’t our own as models, nor the things we wear, but it would make me so very happy to know that you’ll wear it even when we’re not together.”

Makki tangled their fingers together, still smiling in a way that made it seem like he would never stop. His eyes were still puffy, and his cheeks flushed from crying, but he looked anything but sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was screaming at Akaashi as I wrote him leaving for the party, btw.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO TW. JUST SEX.  
> ALSO GO LOOK AT QUINN'S ART AGAIN! [ HERE!! ](https://twitter.com/Acequinnsane1/status/1242138697174331392?s=20) It's specifically for this chapter :) God, I'm still so in awe of their amazing, beautiful piece of art. I cried when I saw it the first time.

Makki learned through increments how to trust—how to let himself go. It took weeks—tiny progressions of intensity with long conversations in between. He’d come to enjoy when Mattsun would tie his hands, and sometimes immobilize him with plethoras of soft, pretty rope. During these times Makki was able to close his eyes—he no longer feared the dark when Mattsun was in control—and let his consciousness take a backseat, let his fears and worries fade into the background so that he was only feeling whatever Mattsun asked him to feel. He knew that he was safe, that Mattsun wouldn’t break him or hurt him, and in those moments he was able to consciously differentiate between what was actually real and what his brain tried to lie and tell him was real.

The days that they didn’t work banishing Makki’s fears they spent either at Makki’s apartment—curled up together watching whatever movie they picked out of Makki’s vast collection—or hanging out with Akaashi until he either went to bed or work. He and Makki became fast friends, bonding over little things: nature documentaries, some of the movies or tv shows they binged together, their mutual joy of teasing Mattsun, and Makki’s interest in Akaashi’s plethora of blended teas. Makki slowly opened up about his home life: his sister announcing her pregnancy and his parents’ distress that she wasn’t moving back to New Jersey for the pregnancy and her desire to raise the child in France; his father’s job in criminal law and his mother’s wholistic health center gaining a slow but steady popularity with the new age.

After he was comfortable, Akaashi began to slowly open up about his own childhood and growing up in, what he described, as an _obnoxiously flat, stupidly small town_ in Colorado. “My parents never wanted kids,” he told Makki over steaming mugs of tea and tiny cookies. “They never hit me or anything like that, but they just didn’t really… care.” His face darkened and he took a sip of his drink, frowning into the cup. “Not until I came out, anyway. My father hated me after that—he was very much into the idea of manly men—football and cigars. He worked construction and in the oil fields near our town.” He told Makki how his father had pretty much ignored his existence after that and had tried to kick him out of the house, but his mother had saved him—“And that was the best thing she ever did for me. She wasn’t mean, but she wasn’t a motherly mother, and generally left me to my own devices. So as soon as I graduated high school—and don’t get me started on _that_ hell-scape—I came here.” Then he’d said he’d bought a new tea blend and would Makki like to try it?

Sometimes the three of them went to work together if Makki stayed over, and sometimes they would meet up with the others in their friend group for a raucous night of drinking and loud, joyous laughter that—once—got them kicked out of the restaurant they were at.

Basically… Makki had never been happier.

* * *

One night they were curled up in bed together, Makki watching the saddest scene in _I am Legend_ —he always expected the dog to live, even though he knew it didn’t—when from behind him, Mattsun nuzzled his nose in his hair.

“You awake?” he asked, his breath tickling Makki’s neck.

“Little bit.”

Mattsun slipped his arm over Makki’s waist and hugged him close. “When’s the last time you went to your apartment?” He didn’t ask it in an accusatory way, and in fact, he spread his hand over Makki’s chest possessively.

Makki actually had to think about that. It had been a while since he’d been back—two, three weeks? He grimaced, rubbing his face on the pillow. Everything would probably be ruined by now… he hoped none of his neighbors had reported the smell. The bag of apples he’d left on the counter were probably attracting all sorts of fruit flies and tiny insects. The milk would be absolutely rotten. He dreaded going back and having to clean it. “A while. Is… is that a problem? Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Mattsun said softly against the back of his neck. “I really don’t want you to go.”

Makki smiled and laid his hand over Mattsun’s arm. “Okay.”

“So we’ll go get your stuff and you’ll stay with me?” He could feel Mattsun’s mouth turn up in a smile against his skin.

Makki hesitated, remembering the rumors and the things that Akaashi had told him about Luke and the end of their relationship. Mattsun didn’t like to talk about it, not really, and even though Makki had touched on the subject, he still didn’t know the _full_ story. Especially the story of the silver ring that Mattsun had worn since the day Luke had gone to California. He had asked once what it was since Mattsun, up until that point, had worn only a beautifully patinated bronze ring passed down to him from his father when he’d passed away four years ago, but Mattsun had only said that the silver ring was a gift and promptly taken it from Makki’s hands and slipped it onto his own finger. “Can I ask you something first?”

“Of course, pet.”

Makki bit on the inside of his cheek nervously. “I thought that… one of the reasons you and Luke broke up was because he wanted to move in here.”

He could feel how still Mattsun went as soon as he asked it. He didn’t move for a long moment—it felt like forever, Makki’s heart began to hammer against his chest—then his sigh warmed the back of Makki’s neck. “Nic has quite a big mouth,” he said in a flat voice. Nic and Luke had been good friends, and supposedly still talked on a regular basis. 

“Was he wrong?”

Mattsun pressed his face to Makki’s neck before rolling away with a groan and rubbing his face. “It was a lot of things that led to our break-up. You know that.”

“But that was one of the reasons, right?” Makki asked, turning to face him.

Mattsun‘s voice was flat. “It was the last straw on an overly heavy cart.”

Makki wanted to reach out and hug him, he looked so distressed. “So what’s different? Why do you want me here and you didn’t want him?”

Instead of answering, Mattsun slid down on the bed and threw an arm over his face. He was quiet for a long time, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth. Finally, he said, “I didn’t want to live with him because he’s needy, okay?” He said it bitterly, in a way that sounded like he was loathing every word. “If we had lived together he’d have wanted to be… _on_ all the time. He’d have needed me to be …” He groaned, sitting up in a huff and frowning down at Makki. “You know how we can just sit and watch a movie or hang out with Akaashi and play board games? Just… _be_?”

Makki looked up at him, curling up under the sheets, his fingers moving up to clutch at his collar—a habit he’d taken to doing when he was upset in order to comfort himself. “Yeah.” In fact, those were some of his favorite moments, the two of them just spending time together and relaxing. They were both competitive so sometimes their board game nights ended in some sort of kerfuffle where dice or cards were flippantly tossed across the room in aggravation while Akaashi giggled.

“Well I couldn’t do that with him,” Mattsun said. “Luke always wanted to be in the lifestyle—he needed someone who would tell him when and how and what to do, all the time. Every time we had sex he wanted it to be a full-blown thing. He wanted the long, extended, detailed scene with a lot of components and—” He stopped, letting out a sigh. “I remember he was mad at me because I just wanted…” He flapped his hand wildly, clearly frustrated, his voice trailing off.

Makki reached a hand out to touch his wrist, curling his fingers gently around it. “You just wanted intimacy.”

Mattsun looked away from him as if he was ashamed. “Yes. And I just can’t be… a Dom all the time. It’s exhausting. Sometimes I just want to be a boyfriend.”

“Is it hard, then?” Makki asked gently, pulling his hand over and touching it to his cheek. When Mattsun frowned at him he clarified, “Being _on_ all the time. Planning our… scenes and play. All that stuff.”

“Oh.” Mattsun spread his fingers over Makki’s cheek, rubbing his thumb just under his eye. “It can be if I have to do it all the time. Especially if I’m responsible for your everyday choices, even the little ones, like he wanted me to be. That doesn’t even include all the sexual components of our lifestyle. It’s a lot—planning, buying things I don’t have if I need it, setting everything up,” he smiled at Makki, “sometimes getting _you_ all ready. When we actually do get around to the scene sometimes it doesn’t go exactly the way I want to and I need to improvise—sometimes for the better, sometimes not—and then aftercare and clean up.”

Makki grimaced and laughed a little. “Sorry. I’m usually so sexed out I don’t exactly help with that part, either.”

“I think that’s a compliment, don’t worry,” Mattsun said with a smile. “Means I’m doing my part correctly. My point is… he couldn’t let us have a simple life together. I couldn’t give Luke what he needed, and he couldn’t forgive me for it.” He pulled his hand away, brushing it through his hair. “And anytime I think about it it makes me feel like such an asshole if I’m honest. Don’t”—he held up a hand as Makki made to protest this—“I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I know it’s not true, blah blah, but I still think about it sometimes.”

Makki sat quiet for a time, then leaned over and rubbed his nose across Mattsun’s ribs, pressing a kiss there to the warm skin. “You know… you shouldn’t feel that way,” he said softly, ignoring Mattsun’s aggravated noise. “You’re not an ass for wanting to be appreciated… or because you love someone a certain way. I think you did your best.” He moved closer, slipping his arm over Mattsun’s hips and squeezing.

Mattsun reached down and laid a hand on Makki’s head, spreading his fingers into his hair. “I did try… but, even though I feel bad for hurting him, I’m glad he’s moved on. I hope he’s happy.” He paused, then slid down so that he could wrap his arms around Makki’s shoulders and hold him close. Makki smiled and pressed close, hugging himself around Mattsun like a koala. “Because I’m very happy.”

“Yeah?” Makki asked, nuzzling into Mattsun’s neck. “Even if I move in?”

“Especially if you move in.”

* * *

It didn’t even take long for Makki to move into the brownstone. He’d barely unpacked—other than his movies, of course—and it only took one long weekend to get all his things into the brownstone and put away. The flamingo took a place in the reading room overlooking the street, his clothes took up half the closet space and a fair number of the dresser drawers, and he got a shelf in both the fridge and the bathroom for his things. All in all, it was very little pomp and ceremony, even if it was a large amount of legwork going up and down the stairs. He found that he didn’t want to unpack the nightlight and star lamp, opting instead to snuggle closer to Mattsun in the night if the dark scared him.

The only thing Makki had a problem finding a home for was his movie collection. He’d always had a hard time finding a place for it, but in the brownstone there wasn’t a place other than the storage room on the third floor where they kept the spare decorations and all the extra things they couldn’t fit in the living spaces.

“Hey,” he said one afternoon to Akaashi as they sat in the living room, Makki trying to beat the Elite Four in the Pokémon game Mattsun had lent him and Akaashi sunning himself as he read by the window, “can I ask you something?”

Akaashi finished the paragraph he was reading and looked up. “Sure.”

“Do you guys use those,” he pointed to the giant bookshelves along the side wall, “for anything?”

Akaashi glanced at the shelves in question—at the myriad of knickknacks, old plates, and a handful of books and DVD’s, and shrugged. “Not really.”

“Do you think I could use the extra space for my movies?”

“Oh!” Akaashi let out a laugh. “Sure thing. We can take those old plates out back and throw them against the brick wall if you want.”

“Couldn’t we just donate them?”

Akaashi rolled his eyes with a smile. “You’re no fun,” he said as he resumed reading.

Makki swore as his last Pokémon fainted—he really should have trained them up more—and he flipped the game closed before tossing it aside. He got up and moved to examine the bookshelves—they were antique floor to ceiling monstrosities—and see what he could move around in order to fit his movies. He pulled the plates down and stacked them on a table, and was able to move all the knickknacks to one bookshelf so that he could fill one of them up with his movies and wished that he’d never taken the boxes upstairs to begin with because now he’d have to haul them all back down. Over the last few weeks, Akaashi had seemed to relax back to his former, cheery self ever since the party, except that he’d stopped being so promiscuous—Makki didn’t think he’d seen Akaashi even flirt with anyone for weeks, which was still a shock in and of itself. They’d all eaten together a few times, and Makki learned that Mattsun’s domineering personality—or protectiveness, whichever one chose to call it—extended to his friends as well as his boyfriend.

If he thought that Akaashi hadn’t eaten enough, or if he’d been in bed too long, or hadn’t come out of his room often enough, or any _number_ of things, Mattsun would drag him out and scold him, then make him eat or socialize until Mattsun was satisfied. Sometimes Akaashi was belligerent in his refusal to do exactly as Mattsun told him—he didn’t like being ordered about—and they would have a loud, short argument that made them both furious for days on end and Makki usually had to go to special lengths to get them to speak again. Akaashi still hadn’t told them specifically what happened at that party, and by now Makki didn’t think he would, but he did think that it still hurt him, whatever it was.

Suddenly Akaashi let out a frustrated groan and jumped up, dropping his book in his seat and huffed, “What a stupid ending.”

“Unsatisfactory?”

Akaashi stomped over to him and picked up the plates that Makki had set aside. “Completely ridiculous. The murderer was the _narrator_. She said in the first paragraph of the book she wasn’t the murderer! She lied! In the last sentence you find out she _was_ the murderer!” He actually stomped his foot in aggravation. “Now I’m definitely going to go throw these against the wall in the yard.”

“Wait,” Makki said quickly, reaching out to gently grab the sleeve of his cardigan. Akaashi frowned at him as Makki took the plates from him and put them down, then pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s shoulders and holding him against his chest.

Akaashi stiffened for only a moment before he let out a shaky laugh. “Are you okay?”

“We’re friends, right?” Makki asked in a soft voice, squeezing him a little.

He could feel Akaashi’s eyelashes against his neck as he blinked in surprise, then slipped his arms around Makki and hugged him back and laid his head on Makki’s shoulder. “Of course.”

“I care a lot about you,” Makki whispered, remembering the way that Akaashi had always had an easy smile for him, and was quick to laugh—and how those things seemed to have lessened in number recently. He seemed to have a cloud over him, or inside him, and it hurt Makki to see Akaashi hurting. “You’re like family.”

Akaashi’s breathless laugh was warm against Makki’s skin. He felt so fragile in Makki’s arms. “I feel the same, Makki.”

“And you know,” Makki said, pulling back so he could look at him, “that you can talk to me, right? With whatever. I’ve been there, too.”

Akaashi’s face shifted, darkening, twisting into confusion and stress, but he didn’t pull away. He stood frozen, eyes locked with Makki’s, his breath catching for a moment before he closed his eyes as if in pain. “I know,” he whispered. “I know. If I need to, I promise I’ll talk to you—both of you.” He pulled Makki’s hands off him, his smile so hastily constructed it looked like it would shatter any moment. “Let’s go throw those plates now.”

“Can we throw them in a trash can outside?”

Akaashi made a face that told Makki he was ruining his fun.

“Otherwise the glass will never get cleaned up.”

“Oh.” Akaashi sighed, picking up the plates and heading toward the back door. “I wish I could say you’re wrong, but I know you’re not. Fine, we’ll use the big one outside.”

* * *

Mattsun awoke late one morning and reached out, searching for Makki, but found him gone. For a moment, he was frightened, furious, worried… and then he remembered that Makki was only gone to work. He remembered Makki kissing him goodbye that morning, a momentary glimpse through the fog of sleep, but then he’d slipped back down and slept for another few hours. It was later than he’d slept in a very long time.

He curled under his sheets, turning his face into the pillow that Makki used, content to doze for a moment longer. He remembered what he’d been dreaming of—that he’d had a dog. He’d always wanted a dog. One of those nice medium-sized ones that fetched things without having to be taught how. Maybe a yellow one, or a pale, ruddy red one. He used to have one in an electronic game he played when he was younger… and suddenly, even though he knew it was childish, he wanted to play that game again. He’d had other dreams, too. Silky dreams, flowing through his memories. They had been dark—but not in a bad way—like the flickering shadows of candles, or the darkness of a nighttime while you could hear your lover’s breath as they slept. He couldn’t catch the images of them, just the _idea_ of them. And the idea of them made his body heat up, especially deep down under his skin and down between his legs. Makki’s scent still lingered on the pillow from the ghastly expensive shampoo that his sister sent him from France, and Mattsun buried himself in it, sliding a hand down his body and wishing that Makki was here. Here, _now_.

He cupped a hand around himself, sighing with how much he wished it was more—wished it was Makki’s hand… or his mouth. “Fuck,” he murmured into the pillow, clawing at the other end of the bed until he found his phone and thumbed through the screens before pressing the phone to his ear. “Makki?”

Makki’s tone was jovial and cheery. “Sir, hello! You’re finally awake?”

“Mhm,” Mattsun hummed, turning onto his side and curling his fingers down. “When’re you comin’ home?”

“I just got on lunch, and then I’ve got a few things to do afterward. Why?” He paused, and Mattsun could hear the smile in his voice. “What are _you_ doing?”

“What d’you think?”

Makki’s voice lowered, and Mattsun could hear him walking—the voices in the background dimmed as he moved. “Your voice is getting all gooey, and it only does that when you’re doing something dirty.”

“I am doing something dirty,” Mattsun said, twisting his hand and letting his moan float softly through the speakers.

Makki sucked in a breath. “Oh, no _fair._ ” Now his voice was a little softer, closer to that breathless tone he got when _he_ was turned on.

“Do you know that bathroom up on the—like—twentieth floor?”

“The one that no one uses?”

“Mhm-hmm. Go there.”

Makki hesitated for as long as it took Mattsun to reach down further and tug at himself, making his toes curl and his breath hitch. “Shit. Okay.” He murmured apologies as he shuffled through a crowd. Mattsun let his hand roam, thought that maybe he should get some of the lube they kept beside the bed, but instead just sucked his fingers into his mouth and let Makki hear it. “Oh, God,” he whispered into the phone. “Sir, please, don’t tease me like that. At least—wait! Hold the door. Excuse me, sorry.”

Mattsun smiled as he dropped his hand again and began stroking, squeezing his fingers harder than he really liked, but that made him make several choice noises into the phone. He hoped Makki had his earbuds in. He hoped he _didn’t_. He hoped other people could hear his moans through the phone. He knew the exact shade of red that Makki’s cheeks probably were, and said, “There’re a lot of people in the elevator?”

“Yes,” he replied in the way of people on phones did in crowded tiny spaces filled with strangers.

Because he knew Makki liked it, he let the drawl of his childhood linger in his voice, rumbling out of the back of his throat. “I wonder if they can hear me. D’you think so?”

He _wished_ he could see Makki’s face, but all he could hear was him breathing a little harder. “I— I don’t know.”

“You should ask.”

“No, I— oh, sorry.” Shuffle of bodies—the _ding_ of the doors—people walking. “You’re still there?”

Instead of words, Mattsun pressed his palm to the underside of his cock and moaned into the phone.

“Oh, God,” Makki murmured. “Can you just— Oh, thank fuck.” There was another _ding_ , and he hurried out, his breath puffing. Mattsun could follow his path in his head as he hurried down the long hall lined with office doors and storage rooms for equipment. “Ok, I’m here.” He was panting, a little out of breath.

“Lock the door,” Mattsun told him. He could imagine the tiny bathroom—just a cramped tiled room with toilet, waste bin, and sink so close together that the person inside usually had to contort themselves to use it. He dropped his voice to his most seductive of whispers, “When you come home, I’m going to take my time stripping your clothes off.”

Makki whined a little groan. “Okay…”

“And then you can get on your knees like you like to do. I’ll bury my fingers in your hair and make you service me.” He heard a _thump_ and said, vaguely concerned, “What was that?”

“My knees gave out.” Makki’s voice was thick and a little distant sounding. “It’s ok. The floor caught me.”

Mattsun allowed himself a short laugh. “You like that idea?”

“Very much, Sir.” He groaned a little. “Would you…”

“Yes, pet?”

“Would you let me use my hands, or… just my mouth?”

Mattsun grinned at how out of breath he sounded. “Tell me what you’d want, Makki.”

“Just… I want to get you off with only my mouth.”

“You’ve not been able to do it before,” Mattsun told him because he knew that Makki always rose to a challenge.

He wasn’t disappointed. Makki sounded a bit petulant when he said, “I’d be able to today.”

Mattsun had slowed his hand to a lazy, absent-minded stroking, just enough to keep his arousal right on the surface of his skin, tingling with little waves of pleasure. “And when you do, I’ll give you a reward.”

“Getting you off is a reward in and of itself, Sir.”

Mattsun hummed as the pleasure of a _job well done_ rattled him. Having Makki as a sub to teach had been its own pleasure, but when he said things like that unprompted, it completely undid Mattsun and made him squirm inside with an overwhelming sense of pride. “Even so,” he said.

“Can you…” He paused, and Mattsun could hear him swallow. “Do you want to video call? I— I really want to see you.”

Mattsun pulled the phone away from his face and tapped the little camera icon. It took a few moments for the feeds to connect, but then Makki’s flushed face came into view. His lip was caught between his teeth, and he looked ravenous.

“Ah, there’s my pet. Are you being good?”

Makki nodded, curling up in on himself and clutching at the phone with both hands, his cheeks puffed out in a pout. He wasn’t allowed to masturbate—only Mattsun could give him pleasure, as his Rules dictated.“Of course, Sir.”

“Another reason you’ll get a reward when you get home.” He spent a few moments trying to set up his phone so that he could leave it tilted at a good angle to catch most of his body in the frame. Then, because he knew it would drive Makki crazy, spent a few moments stroking himself and showing how much he was enjoying it. He could hear Makki on the screen breathing hard, letting out desperate little sounds whenever Mattsun himself grunted with pleasure. He’d not forgotten how to masturbate, even though it was far less superior to having Makki with him.

Makki shifted, and the camera jostled a little. “God.”

“No, not God,” Mattsun managed, looking at him through the screen.

Makki made a face at him and said, “I’m blowing off work.”

“Y’can’t,” Mattsun told him, rolling onto his back. It allowed him to spread his legs better, but he had to twist his head up at an awkward angle to see Makki still. “Don’t. It won’t take long. Two hours at most.”

Makki was aghast at the thought. “Two hours! With you at home like that? No fair, no fair. I’m not gonna make it…”

“You will,” Mattsun told him. “Anticipation is half of the fun.”

Makki’s eyebrows pinched together, and he huffed. “I’m gonna be horny all day now.”

“I’ll take care of you when you get home.”

He nodded fervently. “I know. I know. You always do.” He chewed his lip for a moment, glancing away and then back again. “Would you let me watch you finish?”

Mattsun smirked at him, rocking his hips up so that Makki’s eyes caught on the motion. “Who says I will? I know all about how to prolong pleasure. I might just lay here and touch myself all day until you get here.”

Makki made a high pitched, desperate sound in his throat. “Oh, God. I can’t go through work thinking about you doing this. Fuck, I’m gonna be hard all day.”

Mattsun chuckled, letting it trail off in a little gasp just to hear Makki make that sound again. “Good luck, pet. I’ll see you when you’re home.”

* * *

The next two hours were _excruciating_. Makki spent them intermittently thinking about the image of Mattsun masturbating for him and being scolded for spacing out during his sessions. He had to pretend to care about his goddamn _job_ for two hours when all he wanted to do was go home and let his body experience the shape and taste of Mattsun’s cock on his tongue instead of just remembering it.

It was _agonizing_. But when he was finally free, he raced outside and towards home. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he’d been able to find a home so easily and quickly, but he absolutely thought of the warm, rich tones of the brownstone (and, more importantly, Mattsun’s arms wrapped protectively around him) as home. He scrolled through the dirty texts Mattsun had texted him while he was working and walked considerably faster. He sent a text in hopes that Mattsun would wait for him — _i’m coming_

It took a few minutes for Mattsun to reply, but when he did, it made Makki laugh aloud. — _not on the street? thts not sanitary_

— _be there soon_

_— hurry_

When he arrived, he found Mattsun standing naked on the third-floor landing, and when they caught sight of each other, he reached a hand out to pulled Makki against him in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. Today he was a smoldering storm when he kissed, at once far away and building so close that people would nervously flick their gazes up at the sounds of rumbling thunder overhead. His hands came up to cup Makki’s face—lighting in his fingertips—and parted his lips—the warmth of a summer rainstorm—so he could trace his tongue over Makki’s. He walked backward as they kissed, dragging Makki with him into their bedroom. The lights were off, but faded, yellowed afternoon sun filtered in through the thin curtains, and Mattsun had set up several clumps of candles around the room—ambiance, flickering little rings of warm light that made everything seem surreal and fantastic.

Makki began tugging at the buttons on his shirt and chastising himself for picking buttons today instead of the soft cotton t-shirt he’d picked up first.

“Hands down,” Mattsun said in a low, crisp voice. “Keep still.”

Makki didn’t hesitate, pressing his hands down against his thighs. Mattsun’s tone caused a tiny trickle of cold to wind its way from the tip of his head all the way down between his legs. It was a good cold, contrasting how hot he’d been all day. Mattsun’s voice always did that to him—it made him want to drop to his knees and prostrate himself. To worship him the way he deserved. It made all his natural instincts scream at him that _this person_ was worth it. _This person_ would take care of him.

Mattsun pulled away just enough so he could trail kisses across Makki’s cheek, his own hands coming up to the top buttons on Makki’s shirt. He pulled the buttons apart, one by one, excruciatingly slow, his mouth brushing Makki’s ear as they both rocked. His hands spread over Makki’s bare chest, nails scratching over his nipples and making him gasp aloud until Mattsun hummed into his ear. “Shhh. Quiet, now.” He pushed the shirt off Makki’s shoulders and trailed his fingers down his arms, raising gooseflesh in their wake, slipping his fingers over Makki’s palms to get him to spread his hands. Fingers walked back up his arms, across his collarbones, and up his throat so Makki tipped his head back. Mattsun slipped two fingers under the collar he wore, tugging him forward so that he could bend down and kiss the sensitive skin of his pulse just under his jaw.

Makki’s fingers tingled, aching to reach out and touch, remembering how Mattsun’s skin felt—he was always, always warm. His hair was damp, so he’d showered at some point today, and Makki knew he’d be soft all over. But he didn’t even consider actually moving—just imagined it. Mattsun had told him to be still, and so he would be. He shivered as Mattsun’s hands and mouth roved downwards, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh on his sides as Mattsun crouched in front of him. His hands swept around, cupping Makki’s ass and sliding down his legs over his tight jeans. He watched as Mattsun knelt in front of him and untied the laces on his shoes, then touched his shoulder so that Makki knew it was ok for him to steady himself while Mattsun removed first one shoe, then the other.

He took his time rolling Makki’s socks off his feet, his fingers grazing the bumpy bone of his ankle, cupping under his heel, and dragging up the underside of his foot—it didn’t tickle, not in the way that made him want to laugh. And then Mattsun looked up at him, his eyes so dark with lust that Makki sucked in a silent breath and thanked _God_ that Mattsun was his to look upon when he was like this—so intense and focused in his lust that it stole away every single one of Makki’s mental faculties. It didn’t matter, though, Mattsun would tell him if he needed to think.

Mattsun laid his cheek gingerly on Makki’s bare stomach, closing his eyes as he turned his face into his skin. His fingers worked the button and zipper of his jeans open and shimmied his pants off his hips so that Mattsun could trace his nose across the band of his underwear. Mattsun kissed the skin that sloped between his hips, breathing over his skin, and making Makki have to clench his fists in order to not reach out and touch him. He knew that Mattsun could feel him shivering with anticipation and desire. He also knew that Mattsun would take his sweet time with him, though, taking him apart until Makki was nothing but putty in his hands. Mattsun liked to touch him, and on one memorable occasion had Makki lay absolutely still on the bed while he made an exercise of touching and kissing nearly every inch of skin on Makki’s body, all while Makki whimpered and moaned with each press of lips to another sensitive place on his body—which, he discovered, was _everywhere_ when Mattsun was involved.

Makki gasped again when Mattsun tugged his underwear down, sliding it down and off his legs, then pushing away the pile of discarded clothes so they wouldn’t trip over them. Mattsun kissed the crease of his hip, smiling against his skin, and then kissed his way back up Makki’s body as he stood, before finally kissing his lips again. He spread his fingers in Makki’s hair and tilted his head to his satisfaction, licking his mouth open and taking several long minutes just to kiss him into oblivion. When Makki’s breath escaped him, Mattsun was there to give it back, and when his knees became putty, Mattsun’s arm came around his waist to hold him up.

He still hadn’t made a sound. He still hadn’t moved. He was being especially good in hopes of the promised reward.

Mattsun finally pulled away, smiling at him—proud of him!—and said, “On your knees, then.” He held Makki’s arms as he sank down, spreading his legs to allow Makki to slide into the space between them. “You can touch me now, and moan about how much you like my cock in your mouth.”

Makki leaned forward, his hands sliding up Mattsun’s sides, fingers spread so he could touch as much skin as he could. He let Mattsun’s cock be guided into his mouth, and he let his moan float up from deep inside him. He’d never liked this before, not until Mattsun, not until it was _his choice_ to do it and to enjoy it. Mattsun tasted of clean sweat and the musk of his arousal, and he filled every one of Makki’s senses in a way that made his belly tighten pleasantly. He was so turned on it _hurt_. _He was so—_

Mattsun’s hands tangled in his hair, his nails very gently scraping over his scalp. He didn’t direct Makki’s movements but allowed him time to grow accustomed to his size. Makki’s eyes fluttered, his heart in his chest thrummed with delight—the thrill of feeling how much Mattsun liked him there. His hands searched, seeking something to hold on to so he didn’t tumble down into his head, and they found purchase hooked around the backs of Mattsun’s thighs, little fingers pressing into the tiny hollow spaces behind his knees. His muscles flexed under Makki’s hands, the coarse hairs on his thighs scratching the sensitive bits of his palm. He was burning hot.

“Makki.”

When he looked up, he found Mattsun watching him, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth parted with his breath. Mattsun swore softly, his hands tightening and pulling Makki in closer, the crease between his eyebrows pinching as his body swam closer and closer towards pleasure. Makki could see just how close he was by the way his mouth worked, and his nostrils flared a little.

_He was … so very much …_

Makki slipped one hand up over Mattsun’s ass, and the man above him _shuddered_. They hadn’t done it that way yet, but by the way that Mattsun’s breath hitched and his eyes rolled back in his head when Makki’s fingers slid in between his cheeks made Makki think that they just hadn’t _got there_ yet. He’d had a lot of baggage, he’ll admit it. But the thought of Mattsun riding him—taking his own pleasure even as Makki was tied up, tied down, immobile, and wholly present for the act and _liking it_ —made him shiver inside and moan aloud.

That drove Mattsun over the edge. One of his hands cupped behind Makki’s head, and the other reached down to caress his cheek as he spilled himself, letting out a soft sound that made it seem like he was about to cry.

… he was so in _love_ everything within him ached with it.

* * *

Mattsun allowed himself a moment to float through the shivery, tingling aftershocks of his orgasm, then he released Makki’s hair and reached his hands down under his arms to pull him to his feet. Makki wavered a bit, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, a smile curling his lips. “Sit down,” Mattsun said gently, turning him and guiding him back towards the bed so he could drop onto it. He made his knees remember that they _could_ support him, then he crossed the room to get the bottle of water he’d left there for this very purpose.

As Makki took sips of it, Mattsun stroked his hair, his fingers curling down over his neck, playing with the band of the thin collar before hooking a finger underneath it just to feel how well it fit. He pressed a kiss to Makki’s bare shoulder, closing his eyes at how familiar he tasted, how much Mattsun enjoyed having his mouth on him, anywhere.

“Did I do good?” He knew he’d done good because his voice blossomed with pride.

Mattsun smiled against his skin. He said, “You know the reason I always stop you before I come isn’t because you’re bad at it, right?”

Makki chuckled, the water bottle crinkling in his hands. “I paid good money for that class; I’d hoped it wasn’t that.”

“It’s because you’re so good”—Mattsun bit a little love bite into his shoulder—“that I want to do other, dirtier things to you.”

“Oh.” Makki sounded smug.

“Are you done?” Mattsun asked, reaching to take the water bottle from his hands. Makki took another quick drink before Mattsun set it in the floor and pushed him back onto the bed. He had an ever-evolving plethora of plans involving Makki, and the water bottle would only get in the way. And clothes. Clothes would often get in the way.

He kissed Makki as they both shuffled up to the center of the mattress, and when they were settled he draped himself over his body, pressing his knee between his legs and cradling him in his arms. Sometimes, he’ll admit, he liked to hurt his subs. As long as they liked it, and derived pleasure from it, he would too. He had lots of toys he could use to bring about different sensations on the skin: feather-light touches of his fingers, or actual feathers; the thick, heavy straps of floggers to warm the skin; ice cubes; candle wax; the pointy, poking sensation of a little pinwheel; the sharp sting of crops and canes that he could use to leave careful little welts and bruises in places that would have his sub thinking about him for days. He’d learned how to use them all with careful prowess. He had nipple clamps and all manner of insertable things made of glass, steel, silicone, and one dildo that inflated. He had beads and balls and jewelry. Things that vibrated and things that _hummed_ and things that needn’t do anything at all. Rubber, leather, and lace. He’d built a collection over the years that he was proud of.

He knew Makki well enough by now to know all the things he could do to him that wouldn’t send him spinning down into his memories of his past, and all-day he’d been thinking of the various toys he could use on him to build up his pleasure bit by bit until he was dancing on the edge of orgasm—and how he would keep him there for hours if Makki could manage it.

“How’s your shoulder today?” he asked as he kissed it.

Makki took a moment to shift his muscles, testing the rotation and joints. He’d learned—finally—to stop saying _fine_ , and Mattsun knew that he would spend several moments considering his words to give Mattsun a proper answer the first time instead of Mattsun having to have him clarify. “It’s good,” he said after a moment. “It doesn’t hurt when I rotate it, either. I think the warmer weather and the exercises are helping.”

“Good,” Mattsun said against his skin. “I’m going to tie you down now. Do you think you could handle it over your head, or would you rather out to the side?” He asked this because he knew that Makki would tell him the truth.

Makki shifted, trying out both positions multiple times, his face a mask of concentration. “Either.”

Mattsun kissed his shoulder again, a silent promise to not hurt him, and then he took Makki’s wrists in his hands and pulled both his hands carefully upward. He sat on his chest while he tugged the under-mattress restraints up to slip them around his wrists then moved them to the corners of the bed to spread his arms wide. The cuffs were soft and black and required several buckles to be properly attached, but with little clamps for a quick release if necessary. He slipped two fingers underneath them and said, “Hands.”

Makki, his face tilted up, eyes on the restraints, obediently squeezed his hands into fists and released, proving that they weren’t too tight. Even though he’d grown used to restraints, and had even slowly come to enjoy it, Mattsun still tried to start slow when he used them, to let his body remember that he was safe. He climbed off him, keeping one hand on his body as he walked around the bed and picked out the sliver of red silk rope he’d stored in a little bin beside the bed (along with several other toys he’d pulled from his collection for use).

“Good?”

Makki nodded, eyes on the rope, his tongue peeking from behind his teeth. “Very good, Sir.”

Mattsun smiled, kneeling on the bed again and draping the rope over the tops of his arms, just laying it there so he could feel it. His hips canted, the muscles in his arms tightening as he strained upwards, seeking, seeking, _seeking_.

He hummed, considering the possibilities before him. All the things he’d planned suddenly turning over in his mind, and a handful more fluttering down into his conscious coming to life as easily as a heartbeat. Makki’s body sagged underneath him, but his eyes were bright, engaged in the activity, and watching Mattsun with rapt attention. Mattsun leaned down and kissed his chest, sucking on one of his nipples until his mouth was wet and Makki was squirming and panting, each breath a whimper. His arms tugged at the restraints, not trying to escape, just trying to keep himself grounded. Once the one was red and swollen, sensitive to other stimuli, Mattsun reached down to the bin and rummaged for a moment before he pulled out a tiny silver clamp, which he promptly attached to Makki’s nipple.

The reaction was immediate—Makki arched high off the bed and cried out, then dropped and shuddered out a breath from deep in his chest. Every muscle in his body was tense, and Mattsun had to sit on his hips in order to keep him down.

He fingered Makki’s other nipple with his thumb, grinning down at him. “Sit still, now; I’m going to put the other one on.”

Makki’s eyes pressed closed, and a steady flush crept out over is chest and up his throat. He was hard underneath Mattsun’s body, and Mattsun let him rock up into him as he put the other clamp in place. They were connected by a tiny chain that Mattsun tugged experimentally on, and Makki let out a soft scream.

Thank God Akaashi wasn’t home.

It didn’t matter if he was, technically. But he might not like Makki’s voice as well as Mattsun did.

Mattsun wiggled down, moving to lay beside him so he could drag his open mouth over Makki’s ribs. He slid his tongue between one of the clamps and Makki’s legs tensed, his whole body twisting, the rope dislodging and falling over his face.

“Pet,” Mattsun snapped when Makki’s squirming nearly unbalanced him. He sat up, pressing his hands to Makki’s hips to hold him against the bed. “If you keep squirming like this, I’ll make it so you _can’t_ move.”

Makki nodded, his mouth working open and closed for a moment. “Sorry, Sir.”

Reaching up, Mattsun picked the rope up off his face and coiled it around his own hand, vaguely threatening. He could see how hard Makki worked to keep himself still, and was pleased with the effort. He leaned down and picked the bin filled with toys up and set it on the bed beside them before dropping the rope back into it. Makki’s eyes followed the motion, his tongue tracing his lower lip, and the pulse in his throat kicking up another gear.

* * *

Makki was going to implode. Or explode. Or both. At the same time? All he knew was that he was a messy tangle of _feelings_ and Mattsun—SirSirSirSir, _safety_ —was tugging at each strand like a weaver testing the strength of the fabric. Something shivered and rattled behind his breastbone. Thank God he couldn’t properly form words, or else he’d blurt out every thought in his head, which consisted mainly of various forms of: _i love you, i love you, i love you._

Mattsun ran a finger over his stomach, soft, contrasting the pinching pain on his chest so that his brain focused hard on the gentle sensation. “Breathe, pet.”

He sucked in a breath, filling his lungs. The skin on his chest stretched with the movement, and he whined with the pain in his nipples. It hurt, it _hurt_ , _it hurt_. It was wonderful. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. His brain flitted around, catching on nothing but searching desperately for something to focus on, somewhere to lose himself in. The ache in his chest had dulled at little—not necessarily hurting less, but his brain was getting used to it, and he knew the nerve endings were beginning to lose blood flow. He was so focused on this that he startled when _fire_ bloomed on his skin, sucking in a gasp through his teeth, but Mattsun’s hand pressed into his belly to hold him still so the blob of melted wax didn’t stream anywhere that Mattsun didn’t want it to.

Mattsun held one of the tall candles from the bedside table, and his smile was pleased as he trailed a finger over the drops of wax. Makki could feel his touch through the thin paraffin, and his heart surged at the sensation of closeness.

“I’m going to do more,” Mattsun told him. Not so much a _warning_ as a way for him to watch Makki’s reaction. Mattsun always watched him, no matter what they were doing, whether they were at work, browsing through tiny shops in the city, fighting the crowds on the sidewalk, or here in their bedroom. Makki could always feel Mattsun’s gaze on him, assessing, making sure he was alright, memorizing the things that made him happy. It made him feel _known_ in a way that brought him comfort. No one had ever been able to read him the way Mattsun could—what _intimacy_.

Makki watched transfixed as Mattsun hovered the candle over him, high enough that the wax could cool during the fall but not so high that it would splash. The fall of the wax was in slow motion. It landed right over his heart, spreading in a hot, numbing pool across his chest. He wasn’t sure exactly what sound he made, but it caused Mattsun’s mouth to turn up in a wicked, pleased smile.

“You’re so pretty, Makki,” he said, spreading his hand through the soft wax and smearing it across Makki’s skin.

His skin bubbled and tingled, making him writhe with desire. He pressed his knees together, trying not to arch up, trying to be good, but it was so hard when Mattsun let tiny droplets sizzle across his skin in a rhythmic trail, all the way down his belly. His mind fluttered, eyes falling closed, all thought coming to a stuttering stop as his brain rushed to push endorphins to his skin. The wax was like the constant beat of the sun on a hot summer day—laying out on the beach, the way he could feel his skin sucking down the rays. The cuffs hugged his wrists, not digging in even though he knew he was pulling hard on them. He liked them and sometimes wished he could just wear them all day to feel the soft, worn leather brushing his skin.

He didn’t think he had the faculties to speak, but he knew that Mattsun had said something to him. “Thank you…” he murmured back, remembering his manners. Mattsun liked him to be polite, and Makki liked pleasing him. He was rewarded with a hand reaching down to stroke between his legs, spreading them apart so the hand could cup around his balls and squeeze gently. Everything was feeling far away, and he was glad he was tied to the bed or else he thought he might just float away on euphoria.

“Where are you, Makki?”

Makki considered this, dropping his knees to the side and trying to rock upwards before pressing himself back down. He couldn’t feel his nipples at all other than the steady pressure from the clamps. The wax on his skin had hardened, tightening, and left a warm, steady presence that tingled. The hand moved up to stroke him, even though some of his erection had flagged in the face of other sensations, now his brain flicked back down between his legs. Opening his eyes, he found Mattsun very close to his face, and focused on him, the framing of his dark eyelashes, the glinting silver in his brow, the almost invisible shadows under his eyes. Nothing else mattered. The room was blurry background noise. He tilted his face up, begging for a kiss—he needed Mattsun’s taste back in his mouth.

“Are you good?” Mattsun asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” Makki panted, his voice not working right. It was too much to talk.

It was enough, though. Mattsun kissed him, pressing him into the bed with the intensity of it, and this is what made Makki’s heart burst in his chest, and everything go pleasantly fuzzy. He wanted to touch him, wanted to wrap himself around Mattsun and never let go. Mattsun was everything—he didn’t need to think when Mattsun was the one taking care of him— _how freeing_.

He pulled away all too soon and sat close enough that his hip pressed into Makki’s sides while he took a few minutes to carefully peel the dried wax off his skin. Every now and then his nails scraped the over-sensitive skin, and each time Makki shuddered all the way down to his core. He could feel how hot and flushed he was, and Mattsun kept murmuring, “Lovely, lovely, lovely. Look how pretty you are,” which only made Makki warmer… inside and out.

When the wax was all gone, Mattsun touched the tips of his fingers to Makki’s face. “Close your eyes.”

Makki did, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. He couldn’t handle a blindfold around his face, but he could keep his eyes closed, letting the darkness behind his eyes be filled with the things that Mattsun dictated to him through touch and voice. He wouldn’t open them until Mattsun told him it was allowed. He could feel Mattsun shifting on the bed beside him, and was comforted by his steady presence. Something cool blew over his heated skin, and then something _cold_ touched him.

“Do not move.” Mattsun’s words were sharp, but his tone wasn’t, and Makki squeezed his fingers hard to keep his squirming to a minimum. The ice cube that Mattsun had laid over his chest slowly melted with how warm he was, sliding along the slope of his torso and down to his stomach, only pausing for Mattsun to lift the chain between his nipples away and drape it up across his collarbone. Whenever the ice cube finished this journey, jumping with Makki’s rushed, panting breaths, Mattsun would bend down and suck it into his mouth, licking the trail of water off, his tongue warmer than the ice cube and making Makki shiver and moan. He would deposit the ice cube back at the top, and they would both wait as it oozed back down. They did this for several long minutes, Mattsun sometimes putting one on and holding it still with his finger or his mouth, and letting Makki shiver with the cold as it melted and pooled, trails streaming down his sides and over the clamps still attached to his nipples. Once they were melted, Mattsun would warm the place on his skin with open-mouthed kisses.

Mattsun tugged on the little chain that connected the clamps, and pain rushed to his chest again, sharp and sudden. His finger touched around one of them, tapping and pulling gently so that Makki gasped with each gesture. The pain was like an explosion, reverberating all along his body and becoming the only thing he could focus on. It was good pain, that grounded him and made him feel more like himself since he couldn’t hide from it. There was a sudden _ping_ and the sharp throbbing of his chest as the clamps were jerked.

If someone else had heard the noise Makki made, they might have said it was a sob. He panted out a messy tumble of words that he couldn’t understand—he wasn’t even sure they were words. He could feel the pressure of Mattsun’s body as he leaned over him, feel his breath against his skin and the fluttering of his eyelashes when he laid his cheek against Makki’s chest. He pulled on the chain again in a slow, steady pressure that caused Makki’s brain to dip deep down into the well of chemicals to soothe the pain. He sobbed, his mouth working but finding nothing to say except to cry out. Everything vanished except the pressure of Mattsun’s smile pressed into his skin, the knowledge that he felt _good_ and that Mattsun was happy with him.

Then Mattsun said, “Take a deep breath. I’m taking one off.”

If it had been overwhelming when the clamp was put on, it was nothing compared to what he felt when it was taken off. His heart might have momentarily stopped. His mind cleared with the overwhelming starburst of blood rushing back and nerve endings screaming back to life. Mattsun’s mouth covered it, and Makki yelped at the sharp bite of teeth against his nipple. He sucked hard, lathering Makki’s nipple with teeth and heat and _wet_ before pulling off with a soft popping sound. He was absolutely certain that Mattsun had just left a hickey on his nipple, and he let out a breathless little laugh imagining it blotched purple and red.

“Other one, now.”

The treatment was the same, and Makki knew what was coming, but that only made his enjoyment of the act even higher. Having his Dom marking him and knowing that other people would see it at work tomorrow gave him a tickling little thrill.

* * *

Mattsun rubbed his face over the skin of Makki’s chest, dragging his lips over the flushed pink marks from the wax. Makki’s heart was beating _so fast_ —Mattsun could feel it against his cheek. He was letting out tiny peals of laughter. Mattsun wondered what the hell he was thinking about, but whenever he touched a kiss to his skin he bowed upwards into his mouth, so Mattsun didn’t think it was anything he needed to ask about. Something that made him happy, obviously.

Makki seemed to be in a good place, and Mattsun was giddy with pride at how well Makki had done with the clamps. They’d practiced with them, just testing Makki’s tolerance to them, but this was the first time he’d used them in a scene. He rubbed a palm over Makki’s stomach, careful to not catch his nails on skin, just soothing. “You’re so good for me,” he whispered against his skin, confident that Makki could hear him because his breath hitched as he paused to listen. “You’re my good little pet, aren’t you? Perfect. Lovely and wonderful. I’m so happy you’re mine.” He wasn’t normally prone to such long strings of thought during scenes, especially speaking them aloud to someone who was probably less receptive to anything more than one-syllable words, but he couldn’t hold these words in.

“Yes,” Makki breathed out. “Yours…” His voice sounded far away, high pitched. “Sir, yours. Yes. I— I want to stay…” He began to shake—not just shivering, but trembling.

Mattsun looked up to see tears streaming down the sides of his face. He sat up, reaching over him to pull the cuffs off so he could cradle Makki in his arms, but Makki cried out, “No!” as soon as he touched them.

“No,” he said again, shaking, his eyes still closed. “No, don’t. Please. Please. Just— I want—” He was talking fast, his emotions and the chemicals in his body throwing him around like a ship in a storm.

Mattsun frowned down at him, considering. If he took the restraints off it was likely to hurl Makki into a panic, but if he left them on… He grumbled to himself, trying to think of a way to help Makki slow down the adrenaline and emotions rattling around inside him. He remembered the weighted blanket that Makki liked to bundle up under, and so without telling him, Mattsun positioned himself over Makki and laid on top of him.

Not just _some_ of his weight. All of it. He slid his toes against Makki’s feet and pushed his chest against Makki’s, and tangled their fingers together so he could push Makki’s hands down into the bed. The air rushed out of Makki’s lungs in a long puff, and his eyes—which had been fluttering like a leaf in the autumnal wind—stilled as he breathed out, his entire body going still.

“Makki.”

He only hummed, so softly that Mattsun felt it rather than heard it.

“Takahiro.” He’d been very careful about using Makki’s full name, saving it for occasions where he needed to get his attention. Mattsun could feel when his focus shifted. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Makki’s jaw clenched, the muscle under his ear jumping. Slowly, he shook his head. “No…”

When he kept rocking his head side to side, Mattsun lay his own face over his, his nose right next to Makki’s and the corners of their mouths touching in something that was more intimate than a kiss for the simple fact that it wasn’t one. “Talk to me.”

Makki’s lips parted. His breath was warm on Mattsun’s cheek. “I just—” He stopped, the way his mouth pressed together was that of someone trying not to cry. “I don’t… want it to be over.”

Mattsun raised his eyes to gaze at Makki’s face. He looked like he was hurting. “Oh, my darling,” Mattsun whispered, dropping his head to press his face into the side of Makki’s neck. “It’s not over.”

“No?”

“Not as long as you’re mine.”

Makki let out another shuddering breath.

They lay still for a long time until Makki stopped shaking and became very still. When he sounded like he was breathing more evenly, Mattsun lifted his head. “Open your eyes now.”

It took him a few moments, but when he did manage to get his eyes open, they were clear and focused immediately on Mattsun’s face. “I love you, Issei.”

Mattsun blinked at him, a little taken aback. The sentence had come with no segue, and he wasn’t quite sure where it came from. He sat back, peering down at Makki and his easy, gentle smile, his wide, trusting eyes. Inside his heart, a hook began to stab at him, pulling sideways until he was unmoored. His mind fumbled for the right words, to question, to explain… to reciprocate? It felt like it took him too long, even though Makki was still smiling at him. He worried that this was a product of the intense emotions from the scene, and didn’t know if Makki would regret saying that once he’d come down from the high, which could sometimes take days.

He sat up, careful of his weight now, and knelt beside him as he leaned up to undo the cuffs around Makki’s wrists. He did this slowly, and then touched Makki’s left arm, gingerly lowering it so that his shoulder wouldn’t smart with pain. Makki’s face pinched a little, but he shook his head to indicate that the pain wasn’t very bad.

“I’m sorry,” Makki said in his tiny, nervous voice, even as his smile widened. “I didn’t mean to drop that on you. You don’t have to say anything.” He was blushing—blushing! This is what did it, after everything they’d just done, this is what embarrassed him. He was so pretty.

“Sit up,” he said and helped Makki move into an upright position while he piled pillows behind him to give him something to lean on. “I’ll be right back.”

Makki’s face was angelic as he looked up at him. “Okay.”

He went to the second-floor bathroom for an aloe cream and to fill a small bowl with warm water and gather up towels and clean cloths. When he returned, he found Makki sitting right where he’d left him, rubbing his wrists and still smiling in a vacant, far-away manner. He crossed to the bed and soaked one of the cloths in warm water before kneeling on the bed and touching Makki’s shoulder to have him lean back while Mattsun peeled any leftover bits of wax off him before he wiped his skin clean. Then he took the cream and began rubbing it into his chest to soothe the skin, which was vaguely pink still. His nipples were matching purple bruises, so Mattsun was careful when he wiped him there, but Makki just lay his head back and kept on smiling.

Then Mattsun took his hands and massaged each of his wrists, being careful to not press too hard on the sensitive inside. “Here, scootch.” He helped Makki inch sideways so that Mattsun could pull he play-sheet from under him—a thicker, blanket-shaped-mat that Mattsun would lay down for wax play, water, and general messes that could occur during scenes. He folded it and dropped it beside the door so he would remember to wash it.

Makki had turned and leaned over the bin that Mattsun had set on the bed. The way his body twisted made his ass look delicious in a way that had Mattsun unsure if he wanted to bite it or smack it. Possibly both. At the same time? No, that’s dangerous. “What’re these?” Makki asked, poking a finger into the bin.

“Just some other toys I thought I might use.”

Makki picked up a string of silver anal beads and threw a smirk over his shoulder at him. “These?”

Mattsun felt himself smile. “You said you’ve never used them before, so I thought we might. But not right now.”

“Why not?” Makki’s smile was mischievous and playful. He dangled them tantalizingly in Mattsun’s direction.

It _was_ tempting. But Mattsun crawled over him and took the toy from his hands to lay it back in the box. “For now, I just want to spend an hour kissing you.”

“Ohh, that sounds lovely.” Makki turned so he was lying on his back and Mattsun could lay half over him and kiss him.

“You know what I was going to do?” Mattsun asked, dragging his mouth over Makki’s throat. Makki’s hands came up to run through his hair, fingers spread wide as he hummed in pleasure. “I was going to end that by turning you over and fucking you into the mattress.” He felt Makki shiver and the tiny moan that got lost in his throat. “But instead…” He moved up to press a soft kiss to his lips, lingering for longer than he’d intended because Makki tasted so sweet. “Instead… I want to kiss you nice and slow, and then spend all afternoon making love to you.”

Makki smiled at him, tangling their legs together as he arched up into him. “I’d really like that.”

“And maybe,” Mattsun said, brushing their noses together with a matching smile, “after you’re all soft and open and relaxed… maybe I’ll show you how to use them.” He kissed him again. Makki reached up to wrap around him. Mattsun slipped his arms under his shoulders to hold him close as they kissed. They twisted together, touching everywhere they could, both cradling the other until they had to pull away for air.

“Makki,” he said against his mouth, barely able to breathe. Everything in him was fluttery and soft. Makki fit so perfectly in his arms and in his life. He’d never believed in _fate_ but… everything seemed to have slotted into place like the pieces of a complicated puzzle. “I told you that you’re mine, right?” Makki smiled and tucked his face down. “Well, that means I’m yours, too. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“And if I never want to give you up?” Makki asked, peppering a trail of kisses along Mattsun’s jaw.

“Then I’ll be yours forever, my pet.”

Makki’s arms tightened around him, and Mattsun looked down to see that his eyes were shining happily. He said, “That’s a long time.”

“With you, it won’t be long enough,” Mattsun whispered and was rewarded with a laugh. That sound made every place in Mattsun’s body light up with joy. “God…” He groaned as he kissed him again. “I didn’t know… that I could feel this way about someone else.” He pressed his eyes closed, reveling in the feel of Makki’s fingers trailing up and down the curve of his spine. “I can’t think around you. All I can think about is you. You make me so… God, so happy. Happy doesn’t cut it. There’s not a word for…”

Makki’s hands spread over his back, one just over his heart, the other on the small of his back, his thumbs moving in slow, soothing circles. “Sir,” he said, and waited for Mattsun to look at him, “if you don’t mind my saying… that’s called love.”

He whispered, “Is it?” And when Makki nodded, his smile spreading up into his eyes, Mattsun said, “Well then… it stands to reason that I am absolutely, completely in love with you, Takahiro Hanamaki.”

Makki giggled, and Mattsun dropped his head to kiss him again. They couldn’t kiss properly because they were smiling too wide, laughing too hard, and burying themselves in each other’s skin, trading whispered and giggled _I love you_ ’s. Mattsun discovered that once he said it the first time, he couldn’t _not_ say it. He said it so much that eventually it was the only shape his mouth knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO~ that's the end of this story :) My original idea for the Big Bang was this last sex scene but .... somehow I ended up with 80k of plot to make it _meaningful._ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> The next chapter is an Epilogue in two parts, both directly correlating with chapters from Just a Taste. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Thanks for sticking it out to the end with me!! <3


	11. Chapter 11

Epilogue: Part One

_(June)_

_(A/N: between chs 5 & 6 of JaT)_

Something yanked Makki from sleep, but he didn’t know exactly what it was at first. The day had been boiling hot, and the night not much cooler, so he’d thrown his blankets off in the night and he could feel his skin was damp with sweat. He sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair and thinking he would get up to turn the overhead fan on high when he heard a loud, unsteady _tmp tmp tmp tmp_ from the floor below. It sounded like Frankenstein’s monster if he were drunk and one leg was six inches shorter than the other. He looked over at Mattsun, but he was sound asleep, dead to the world.

Makki climbed off the bed and pulled on a t-shirt and pajama pants before carefully moving downstairs. “Keiji?” he called. The door to the bathroom was open, spilling yellow light into the hallway.

Akaashi skittered out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. “Yes?”

“… Something going on?”

“No.”

The sound of someone being violently ill could be heard from the bathroom. Makki raised his eyebrows and Akaashi rubbed a hand over his arm nervously. He said, “I— It’s someone from the bar.”

Now Makki came all the way down the stairs so he could see Akaashi’s face better. “You brought someone hom—”

“Not like that,” Akaashi said quickly. “Obviously. He was just really drunk and I was worried.”

Makki squinted at him in disbelief. “That’s what people in bars _do_.”

Akaashi flapped his hands, then they both stared at the door as the man inside moaned like he was dying. “It was my fault—”

“—You’re the bartender.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t _tend_ him!” Akaashi snapped.

“What does that—” But he was cut off as there was a loud crash from inside and Akaashi threw open the door to check what was happening. The man inside—a cook by the look of him, with a bruise on his face and reeking of whiskey—was sprawled on the bathroom floor and half of the products on the counter had been swept off; the crashing had been one of Mattsun’s expensive moisturizers smashing on the floor.

“Oh no,” Akaashi muttered as he went in, stepping gingerly over the man’s body to crouch beside his head. He touched the man’s cheek. His eyes fluttered open at Akaashi’s touch and Makki was stunned to see not only the burnished gold color of them, but also how glassy and unfocused they were.

“Y’re so pr’ty,” the man said, his voice deeply slurred.

Makki muttered, “Jesus Christ.” He heard stomping on the stairs and stepped out of the bathroom to tell Mattsun that they were okay, only to find him coming down the stairs with a long-handled crop clutched in his fist and only in his underwear.

Makki stared at it and, baffled, exclaimed, “Why do you have that?”

“Are we not being robbed?” Mattsun asked, brow furrowed. “Is Keiji okay? Where is he? Please tell me he wasn’t murdered.”

“What? God— No!” Makki gesticulated toward the crop. “What were you going to do if it was an intruder? Beat them?”

Mattsun said matter-of-factly, “Yes.”

“Maybe you should invest in a baseball bat.”

“I’m more proficient with a crop.” Mattsun moved closer to the bathroom door, carefully balancing the expensive crop up on one of the wide picture frames on the wall to keep it safe from harm. “What’s going— Who the fuck is that?” His eyes raked over the destroyed countertop and his face turned into a glower when he saw his boutique, extremely expensive moisturizer splattered all over the floor.

Akaashi looked up, his expression pinched with worry. “His name is Bokuto— he got really drunk and I felt bad so I… I told him he could sleep on our couch.”

Mattsun frowned down at them with disdain. “This isn’t the couch.”

“I’m aware,” Akaashi said with a glare up at him. “Help me get him up. Stop that.” This last bit was directed to the man—Bokuto—as he tried to raise his hands to touch Akaashi’s face.

Makki said from the doorway, “How do you propose getting him down the stairs?”

“With help, preferably.”

Mattsun made a face that said exactly what he thought of that plan. “He would flatten you.”

“That’s why I want your _help_ ,” Akaashi snapped. Bokuto was attempting to sit up and Akaashi had to push on his shoulders to keep him from falling backward, grunting with the effort.

After rolling his eyes, Mattsun leaned down and, between the three of them, they managed to pull Bokuto to his feet. He swayed where he stood, and Mattsun had to reach out a hand and snatch him by his shirt when he teetered dangerously. As soon as he did, Bokuto’s arm reached up and he looked like he was about to throw a punch but was too dizzy for it to be threatening. Then his eyes landed on the faucet and he slurred, “Water!” and promptly stuck his head under it and began sucking down water.

They stared at him for a long time before Akaashi gently pulled on his jacket to get him to stop before he got sick. “Come on,” he said gently, “let’s go downstairs.” Unfortunately, they hadn’t taken into account the size of the bathroom, nor how they were going to get Bokuto _out_ of the bathroom. Akaashi and Makki had to leave first and Mattsun had to drag Bokuto out by his arms as he stumbled and muttered drunkenly about purée and salmon. At the top of the stairs all four of them stopped to stare skeptically at them before Mattsun pulled Bokuto’s arm over his shoulders, Makki took up a position on the other side of him, and Akaashi walked backwards down the stairs as if he would catch them if they all fell.

It took much longer than any of them anticipated and there were several close calls when Bokuto’s foot slipped down two steps instead of one and nearly brought down all three of them with him, but Mattsun was broad and strong, and Makki was stronger than he looked, and Bokuto seemed to be able to focus on Akaashi’s voice as he gently talked to him all the way down the stairs… and, finally, they rounded the banister and were safely on the ground floor.

They walked Bokuto to the couch and when Makki ducked away from under his arm the man nearly collapsed onto it. He stepped away from Bokuto, rubbing his shoulder and wondering if it really would have been so bad to leave the man on the bathroom floor. He looked like he’d probably spent a few nights on floors and one more wouldn’t have killed him.

“Are you alright?” Mattsun asked him, reaching out and brushing a finger over his shoulder, too.

“Just a little sore. He’s heavy.”

Mattsun snorted a laugh and nodded his agreement.

“You don’t need to sleep in those,” Akaashi pulled at Bokuto’s coat and the various pens in the sleeve pocket. “Come on, take it off.” He began to tug at the little buttons—just fat knots in the fabric—and Bokuto’s grin slipped onto his face as he reached up to slip his fingers around Akaashi’s wrists.

“You wan’ me to take my clothes off?”

Makki couldn’t see Akaashi’s face, but he saw how his entire body went tense, and before anyone could say anything Mattsun lashed out and took Bokuto’s chin in his fingers, turning his face sharply. “Hey,” he said in his commanding tone that left absolutely no room for argument, “you’re not getting your greasy ass print all over our couch. Strip to your skivvies and _lay down_. Go to sleep.”

Bokuto blinked at him. Mattsun squeezed his cheeks and was silent to let the words sink in. It was slow going, but after a few tense, nervous moments where Akaashi stared at Mattsun like he’d lost his mind, Bokuto tugged the jacket open with a practice that seemed to be mostly on muscle memory. When Bokuto balled it up, Akaashi took the jacket and set it on the coffee table, then let out an equally shocked and amused laugh as Bokuto began to push his pants off, too.

Makki snorted and had to turn away once he saw that Bokuto hadn’t taken off his shoes and was unable to figure out why he couldn’t get his pants off. “I’m—” he said through his laughter, “gonna go clean the bathroom.”

The last thing he saw as he ascended the stairs was Akaashi pushing Bokuto onto the couch to try and untie his heavy boots while Mattsun asked with disdain, “What the fuck—who _is_ this big fucking idiot?”

Upstairs, Makki tried to save as much of the moisturizer that Mattsun loved as possible, but over half the bottle was a complete loss. He spent a few minutes trying to put the counter back in order, and then dousing the room in half a can of Lysol before backing out and closing the door, hoping that maybe it would just clean itself. He took what was left of the jar of moisturizer downstairs—passing Akaashi trying to get Bokuto to drink a glass of water—and searched for another container to put it in since this one was mostly jagged glass edges.

“Could you save any of it?” Mattsun asked as he came in behind him.

Makki showed him the tiny amount still left in the bottom of the jar. “Just this.”

“Goddammit.”

He understood Mattsun’s frustration with the loss—the jar was more expensive than a few designer jackets Makki owned, but _damn_ Mattsun’s skin was always flawless so it was at least worth it. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Maybe we can try to get you another one.”

Mattsun shook his head. “Fat chance. It was a gift.” He took the proffered Tupperware container and carefully transferred the contents before throwing the jar into the trash. “I think Akaashi’s got him down, he looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“That’s good.”

Mattsun’s face said it wasn’t good—at least he didn’t like it. “I can’t believe the first man he brings home in months is some transient idiotic asshole.”

“You’re being a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Mattsun held up the remnants of his moisturizer.

“Ah.” Makki sighed and shrugged. “He’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Or we will be,” Mattsun muttered angrily. When Makki only frowned at him he said with exasperation, “He could be a murderer!”

Makki actually rolled his eyes at this. Mattsun was forever seeing deviants, delinquents, and those of a minuscule moral code all around him. “He’s not a murderer. He’s just a drunk.” He paused. “A handsome drunk, but just a drunk. And he’s a cook! I bet we can get breakfast out of this.”

“Unless he tries to poison us.”

Makki smacked him. “He’s not a murderer!”

“I’ll be sure to make your eulogy nice,” Mattsun said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

With only a little bit of mockery in his voice, Makki asked, “You sure you can sleep thinking there’s a killer in our house?”

“I’ll keep my crop close.”

Makki wiggled his eyebrows at him as they moved back into the living room. “If it wasn’t so late I’d suggest you use it.”

“If you’re good maybe tomorrow,” Mattsun said, pushing him ahead of him and running a hand down his back and over his ass.

Akaashi had managed to get Bokuto to lay down and was sitting in the space the curve of his body made. Makki was surprised to see they were holding hands—or at least Bokuto clutched at Akaashi’s, but Akaashi didn’t seem to mind. He looked up as they came in. “Going to bed?”

“Are you?” Mattsun asked, giving Bokuto a dubious look.

He shrugged and went back to trying to stuff pillows under Bokuto’s shoulders to sit him up a little. “I’ll stay up a while longer to make sure he doesn’t wake up and panic.”

Frowning, Mattsun paused at the bottom of the stairs to watch as Akaashi finished rearranging the pillows and then began to gently brush the hair from his forehead, touching his knuckles to his cheek like a worried parent. “If you need us you’ll shout, right?”

“Of course. And thank you for helping me. I promise it’s not going to become a regular occurrence.”

“Better not,” Mattsun said sternly. He pushed on Makki’s back and they began the laborious climb up to their bedroom, stopping on the second floor so that Mattsun could retrieve his crop, which he said he would get engraved with _Intruder Deterrent_.

Once they were settled back in bed, Makki scooting close despite the heat of the night and, laying his head on Mattsun’s shoulder, he whispered into the darkness, “Did you see how he was being with him?”

“Mhm-hmm.” Mattsun tucked one arm around his shoulders, his fingers finding Makki’s hair and curling in it. “I wonder what the guy did that made Keiji be so nice to him. He isn’t usually that way, especially lately.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“Maybe.”

They were quiet for a while, both of them listening for a disturbance from below. Mattsun’s body was a familiar warmth against his side, and Makki turned his face up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw as his own body settled down to prepare for sleep. “It’d be nice, though.”

Mattsun’s own voice was halfway to asleep already. “Mhm?”

“If Akaashi found someone he could love… and someone that would love him like he deserves.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He could feel Mattsun’s chest rise with his inhale, the shifting of his muscles as he pulled Makki closer against him. “That would be nice.”

* * *

Epilogue: Part Two

_(A/N: Between chs 16 & 17 of JaT)_

Even though he didn’t go into work that day Mattsun heard the rumors flying from the agency. After some hasty Googling, he discovered that most of those rumors were false, but that there was one that was true: someone had beaten the absolute _shit_ out of one of the photographers.

Words like _ambush_ and _grievous bodily harm_ were thrown around… along with, on the part of the photographer, _accusations of sexual assault_.

After Mattsun found out _which_ photographer had been beaten, and then found out who had done it… pieces of knowledge that had been alluding him, floating around in the foggy space of his subconscious, began to click into place. He remembered Bokuto in the brownstone, furious over something, and talking to him about the agency. Bokuto had been asking about one particular photographer… one that _just happened_ to share not only the initials of the phone number Akaashi had had last year but also was the same one that Akaashi refused to speak of—ever—even though he worked with him on a near daily basis. He remembered how, almost a year ago now, Akaashi had been crushing on him… and a party that he’d gone to. And the way he’d changed afterward.

It wasn’t hard to puzzle out what had happened and why Bokuto had beaten him. Mattsun wanted to go and finish him off. He thought he probably could, too.

It was almost evening when Akaashi came in, stopping in the living room when he saw Mattsun standing there looking ready for a fight that he would never get to fight. He sighed and leveled Mattsun with a sad, pained look. “You heard?”

Mattsun took a step forward, wanting to wrap Akaashi in his arms and fix everything. “I figured it out.”

Akaashi only watched him, his face a carefully constructed mask… with only a few cracks that showed how much he was truly hurting.

“He _hurt_ you,” Mattsun said in a more accusatory tone than he’d meant to.

“…Yeah.” This time he didn’t hide from the truth, but said it straight to Mattsun’s face, even though it clearly caused him a lot of pain to do so. “He did. He has been… for a long time.” And then in a fiercer, more firm tone, he said, “Bo stopped it. Stopped him.”

Mattsun wanted to scream. He knew that Akaashi wasn’t accusing him of not doing anything, but it sure felt that way. “Why didn’t you say—”

Akaashi cut him off. “Why would I?”

Now Mattsun did cross the room, but he didn’t touch Akaashi, pausing when Akaashi raised his chin in defiance. This is what stopped him, actually, because he hadn’t seen that fire in Akaashi’s eyes in _so long_ he’d forgotten that it had ever been there in the first place. Akaashi wasn’t a fragile person, no matter what Mattsun or Bokuto thought. He’d been scared, but the way he watched Mattsun now reminded him that Akaashi had once been a fiery, fierce person that didn’t need protection. The reminder only made Mattsun realize just _how_ scared and hurt Akaashi had been, and everything in him rebelled at the idea that he’d not been able to do anything to help. He said, putting as much feeling behind the words as he could, “Because I love you. Because I care about you. Because I would have _helped_ you.”

“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” Akaashi told him, never letting his gaze wander. “It would have meant letting him hurt you, too. And you couldn’t have done anything, and that would have been worse for you.”

Mattsun protested this with a wild wave of his arm. “That doesn’t matter! You’ve been”—he almost couldn’t breathe he was so emotional, and had to keep stopping and starting over—“ _hurting_ all this time and you didn’t— That’s not how we’re supposed to be. We’re supposed to— It’s _me_. You can tell me anything. I would have helped you put a stop to—” But his words were cut off, surprised to silence, as Akaashi moved forward and threw his arms around Mattsun’s neck. His hands automatically came around Akaashi’s waist to hold him, then he wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, meaning it in every possible way: that he hadn’t understood, that he hadn’t been able to help, that Akaashi hadn’t felt he could come to him, that he hadn’t put a stop to it himself, that it had happened at all. “I’m so sorry…”

Akaashi pressed himself close, his body shaking a little with the effort. “I know,” he said softly, his words shuddering with his breath. “I love you, too.”

They stood that way for a time, long enough that Akaashi’s breathing evened out. “Keiji, do you remember when I told you that you didn’t need to worry about looking for someone to love you?”

“You said you’d tell me when I’d found the right person,” Akaashi said with a small, breathless laugh. He tried to pull away but Mattsun held him fast, reaching up a hand to the back of his head and hold him still.

“He’s the one.”

He could feel Akaashi’s quick smile against his skin, and the way it stretched and held as he pressed his face against Mattsun’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he said against the fabric. “Yeah, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked these little scenes that never made it into JaT :) I'm glad I finally got to share them!! Thank you all for reading ٩(♡ε♡)۶


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